


Promises You Made

by RebeccaMeyers12, Spoonck (RebeccaMeyers12)



Category: Fran Bow (Video Game)
Genre: Betrayal, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Gore, Kissing, Origin Stories, Pregnancy, The Beginning and ending of a relationship, The Valokas is a deeply conflicted and flawed person, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-17
Updated: 2020-09-20
Packaged: 2020-10-20 05:55:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 22,877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20670425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RebeccaMeyers12/pseuds/RebeccaMeyers12, https://archiveofourown.org/users/RebeccaMeyers12/pseuds/Spoonck
Summary: A recounting of Mabuka and The Valokas's relationship, from the beginning to the end.Takes place in the same universe as Shadowheart405's fanfiction series. If you haven't read them, this won't make as much sense to you.Also takes place before my fanfiction "The War", but you don't have to read that one to understand this one.





	1. Back in the beginning

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ShadowHeart405](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShadowHeart405/gifts), [MaySake74](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaySake74/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Mabuka's Beloved](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8971879) by [ShadowHeart405](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShadowHeart405/pseuds/ShadowHeart405). 

> Hi! Shadowheart405's fanfiction series is amazing and really special and important to me, and I love their writing. This is a recounting of Mabuka and The Valokas's relationship that is briefly described in one of the chapters of their story. This is probably not perfectly in character, but I did my best. This is also not beta read, So I apologize for any mistakes. This also includes some of my personal theories, (I.e, how Remor was born), so this is not really canonical, nor can I say that this is what Shadowheart405 plans for their series. All that being said, I sincerely hope you enjoy this.

_ "Back in the beginning, there was a woman and a man. I don't know how the world will end, but that's how it began." -Hadestown _

When the world and all living things (and some things nonliving as well,) began, there was nothing. And the nothingness was eternal, and stretched onward, in every direction conceivable. There was no up, no down, no backwards or forwards, only darkness and quiet. It was quite peaceful, really.

** **

And then, in the beginning of the world, in the prologue of a story that had only barely been planned, and not even written yet, suddenly, and with no forewarning, there was a woman and a man. And the whole world, though there wasn’t much to call a world at that point, was deeply and profoundly shocked.

** **

The woman was dark, and quiet, and not at all unlike the nothingness of the world they inhabited and very, very beautiful. As time wore on, she would also prove to be clever, wicked and wise, but for now, she was beautiful and quiet and powerful.

** **

The man, however, was bright and sharp, like a knife of pure sunlight. He was handsome and golden. And with the passage of time, he would prove to be kind, intelligent, charming and wonderful, and strong of heart and body. When even more time had passed, he would also show himself to have grown a little hard hearted, a little callous, and just a little bit more than cruel, though he would also learn to disguise that very well. 

** **

But of course, that would all come much later. Right now, the woman and the man were young, and very beautiful, both of them.

** **

The woman looked up at the man through a veil of thick blood red hair, eyeing him appraisingly. She squinted at him.

** **

“You’re too bright.” She might have said this crossly, were she not still confused about her situation which was so new and so odd. She was experiencing everything, including light and vision and existence and speaking for the first time. They both were, and there was not much room for anger in all of this. The man’s glow illuminated the world around them, but as there was nothing to be illuminated save for the woman herself, the world was lit up in confusion about whether it was dark and empty, or bright and empty, and flashes of light that you and I may have called stars flowed outward from the man’s bright glow and fluttered upwards, illuminating the space around them. No matter if you like light or darkness, it was quite an ordeal of a beginning.

** **

“I’m terribly sorry,” The man said, who wasn’t sure why he was, or what the light exactly was yet, only that he seemed to be causing it, and that he quite liked the look of it. The woman watched him, and watched the light. She turned back to him, and realized that he was very handsome, though as she had never met any other person before, she was not quite certain. Was she beautiful? She couldn’t be certain about that, either.

** **

“What’s your name?” She asked, and then realized she didn’t have one herself, or at least one she knew of. The darkness around her seemed to whisper to her, in the back of her mind, and she took what information she could from it. The man thought a bit.

** **

“Valokas.” He said finally. The woman raised an eyebrow. “I’ve never heard of a name like that, before.” She said thoughtfully. The Valokas shook his golden head. 

** **

“I couldn’t tell you where it came from, only that it came to me.” 

At this, the woman thought for a bit. Finally, the whispers in the back of her head raised to a culminating cry: Mabuka. It had been troublesome to pin down, but that was her name. She was sure of it, now that she had it. 

** **

“My name is Mabuka.” She ventured to tell the Valokas. He smiled wonderingly.

** **

“Mabuka,” He repeated, a half smile on his golden glowing face. It was a beautiful name. She was a beautiful woman. At least, he thought so. Was beautiful a good thing? It must be, if she was. 

** **

“Well.” He said thoughtfully. “I don’t care much for this world. Do you, Mab-”

** **

Then, around them, in the very veins and heart of the world around them, it was as if there was a pulse of breathing life. The Valokas’s life spread throughout the darkness, and in front of him, the light stretched outward, creating a dimension before him of pure brightness and clarity. In wonder, he started forward, pausing to turn back. Where he stood, a line of golden light was drawn in the darkness. Behind him, pitch void and Mabuka, who watched him in amazement. In front of him, light.

** **

“How is this possible?” breathed Mabuka. “What is it all?” She did not quite enjoy the brightness the way she liked the dark. The dark whispered. The light screamed. Reflexively, she took a step back. The Valokas turned away from her.

** **

“Light.” He said suddenly. Suddenly, he knew. He knew what it was, where it came from. He knew it was from him. He was its maker. Its creator. Its harbinger. “It’s light. That’s what it is.” A smile grew on his face, and he started forwards. 

** **

“Where are you going?” Mabuka called to him, unwilling to traverse there. 

** **

Without looking back, the Valokas responded. “This is a world. The place we are in now is nothing. I will go to the world, and bring forth a new life, as I have done with this light. I am going to create.” 

** **

“This is not nothing.” Mabuka responded, though it mattered very little to the Valokas, who was set in his quest. “This is stillness.” In response, still without turning to face her, The Valokas raised his hand, though whether he was acknowledging or dismissing her statement, none could know. And he stepped forward into the light, and walked, until Mabuka lost sight of him and turned away. After staring into the light so long, the darkness comforted her eyes and she breathed a sigh of relief.

** **

“Silence,” She said suddenly. It was as if the void spoke to her directly. And she realized then, that this, this realm they had been born into not only housed them, but created them. Was it mother to her? Or father? Or both, or neither? She was not certain. But she knew it was not nothingness. 

** **

“The realm of stillness…” She whispered, and knew it was true. 

** **

X-X-X

** **

Where his golden feet walked, grass grew, green and lush, He stretched his hand upwards, and placed a glowing light in the sky, which was as blue as a robins egg. When he willed it, trees grew, flowers, and rivers and lakes and oceans were carved into the ground, and flowed forth with water as clear as crystal. The Valokas stretched his hand out and created wind, created clouds, created dirt and earth and mountains, because he could. He needed no other reason. 

** **

He willed himself to the highest peak of his highest mountain, and looked over everything. He smiled. 

** **

“Primeve,” He said. That was a good name. It was good, of course, because he created it. Everything he created was good.

** **

But it wasn’t finished. He knew, instinctively, that though he loved it, and had made it beautiful, it was not enough. So he walked onward, until he passed through to something new, someplace new. Here the sun was bright, and the trees he rose whispered songs in the breeze. The water sang its secrets to him as he passed over it. And as he walked, something entirely new came to the land. 

** **

Life. The moving kind, anyway.

** **

He crouched down, looking at the wriggling creature. It’s arms and legs and torso were similar to that of a tree, but it moved, walked. Danced. It looked up at him. It was like him. He had created something like him! How beautiful it was! As he straightened up and looked around, he saw more of these creatures, ranging in sizes. Some looked like insects, their wings like stained glass, there backs and chests armored with a chitinous shell, while others were wooden. Some were vegetative in nature, and he watched in wonder, until a name came to him so perfectly it could come from no one else but him.

“Ithersta.” He breathed, and laughed aloud. “It’s beautiful.”

** **

It was. 

** **

X-X-X

** **

In the whispers in the realm of stillness, Mabuka learned that she too had power. Hers was not to create light, but to create darkness, and silence, and to control the night. She tested her powers slowly, and carefully.

** **

But in the dark, even with the whispers of the realm, she was terribly lonely. She decided to venture to find the Valokas once more. So she strode forth, into the light. 

** **

As she walked, her eyes, accustomed to the darkness, were not comforted by the thin black veil she had draped over her hair and face, and instead were burned by the harsh sunlight. Still, the world around her was beautiful. This she could not deny, though she was dazzled by the light.

** **

She found him overlooking a village. As she drew nearer, she saw the little creatures walking amongst themselves, already creating their own way of life, and partaking in the world they lived in. She took a place beside the Valokas who was smiling to himself. It took a moment for him to notice her.

** **

“Mabuka!” He said in some surprise. Even kings of light don’t foresee everything. “I did not expect you.” Mabuka nodded at him. 

** **

“I wished to see how you succeeded in your creation. It seems you have done well, by your standards.” 

** **

The Valokas took this compliment graciously. “And by yours?” He ventured. Mabuka smiled slightly. 

** **

“You have done well. Is this all you have made?” 

** **

“I’ve only needed to plant the seeds. They will do the rest of the making.” The Valokas gestured at the Itherstians below.

** **

Mabuka and The Valokas were silent for some time, watching the creatures. 

** **

“Are they not perfect?” The Valokas finally said. “I woke them up when I created the land. They grow. They plant. They work. They live, eat, breathe, dream… All they do is to create, to grow forth a place where they and their children will live. They are… something like myself. And you, of course. But I shall never tire of watching them. They are so curious… So strange… So alive.” Mabuka pondered this.

“Are you their king?” She asked. The Valokas grinned pridefully. “They see me as more than that, my lady. I am king. I am creator, ruler, emperor of light. I am father to this land and its people.” 

** **

“Father? That’s very amusing.”

** **

“I tell you it is the truth. I have made this land. Who else could have?” Mabuka shook her head in amusement.

** **

“You could never be a father. That is for them, isn’t it? To be father, mother, bring forth more of themselves? You are a creator, that is true. But a father is not a role for a king to partake in.” 

** **

The Valokas thought about this. 

** **

“You are right, I suppose.” He said finally. “Mabuka, I shall never be a father.” 

** **

X-X-X

** **

They walked together. Often. There was only the two of them. They were the only ones like each other, and they could grow lonely. Even the Valokas, with his itherstian citizens, could never feel fully accepted without Mabuka. And even Mabuka, with the comforting darkness and its fond whispers, needed the Valokas’s company every now and then. 

** **

So they walked together. When Mabuka grew tired of a path, he brought forth a new one for them to walk along. Though Mabuka could not stand the sunlight, She came anyways, out of kindness and affection for her friend. The Valokas never returned to the realm of stillness. 

** **

One day, they walked a new path along a forest of trees, brimming with leaves that whispered as they walked, and stretched out taller in reverence and respect to the Valokas. Indeed, Ithersta and Primeve knew their creators footstep, and loved the footstep that he made, and revered his presence. 

** **

As they walked, they spoke of everything they knew. Of golden suns and lemons, of quiet and calm, of joy and tears and life. The Valokas loved his land, and loved to recount tales of it. Mabuka loved to listen, for she knew the Valokas cared little of her beloved darkness. 

** **

As the day stretched eternally, (Neither ithersta or Primeve had a night to speak of), Mabuka thought to herself that the day had been going very well so far. She felt at ease around the Valokas. Around someone like her. 

** **

“So you see, the world is always listening, my lady Mabuka. It never sleeps. It only dreams, but as it stirs. The sun knows many stories it tells me. The water whispers its secrets as you drink it. The people feel this peace, this love stored in the heart of the earth, and it makes them loving. They cannot hurt anything, because they know nothing but love.”

** **

“What about you?” Mabuka asked, surprising herself. “What do you love?” The Valokas was startled. 

** **

“I love my land, of course.” He answered. “My… people. The itherstians. I love them.” Mabuka shook her head.

** **

“Then  _ who  _ do you love?” She asked, turning to face him. “Do you know what I believe, Valokas? I believe if you love no one, you die. Even if your body still walks, you are not alive without love.” The Valokas contemplated this.

** **

“I don’t know who I love.” He said finally. “I love the Itherstians as one. I love the land as one. I cannot favor one blade of grass over the other. I’ve never thought of such a thing.”

** **

“Then can you call yourself dead?” Her hand, small and cloaked in a thin black glove, brushed against his and he started.

** **

“Don’t say such things. I create life. I breathe life.” Slowly, her hand curled against his larger one, fitting itself into it. It fit perfectly, as if it had been made for it. In a way, it had.

** **

“Valokas?” She said.

** **

“...Yes, Mabuka?” 

** **

“I am not dead.” 

** **

The Valokas slowly turned to face her, and gently, as if fearing reproach, lifted her veil to look her in the eye. Slowly, his other hand came to touch her chin. He looked deep into her face, the smooth white skin, the blood red eyes, so long lashed. The full lips, the regal expression. It was at this point, the Valokas realized something he had missed many times before. Without thinking, without the need for thought or consideration, knowing in the very core of his being that this was correct, as real and right as the golden light that made his essence, The Valokas leaned closer to her. 

** **

“Neither am I.” He replied. 

** **

When they drew apart, Mabuka looked The Valokas closely in the eye.

** **

“Make me three promises.” She said, her voice a whisper in the whisper of the trees. The Valokas nodded.

** **

“I will. Tell me them.

** **

“You will love me, always.” 

** **

“Yes. How could I not?” 

** **

“You will always do what is right, what is good, what is noble.”

** **

“I will. I will.”

** **

“And you will never betray me. You will not hurt me.”

** **

“I will not, Mabuka. I could never.”

** **

X-X-X

** **

For a time, the world and every reality was peaceful. All was right. As long as they two were together, the world was as it was intended to be. They were together, and never separated. They did not fight amongst themselves, finding instead they agreed on everything. They loved each other, and it was the purest form of love that could be known, and their love made the world bloom and glow, and their love made the realities hum with joy, for the very veins of reality flowed with the blood of happiness. 

** **

When they danced together, the world was alive and bright, and death and sadness could touch no one. Their love made the world go round.

** **

But some loves, no matter how strong, how powerful, do not last. 

** **

They were happy together, it is true. But they were changing, too. Mabuka was changing in a way she did not realize yet, as did the Valokas. And change, as it is known, is the killer of men. Change knocks down walls, tears apart cities, destroys love. 

** **

When the first creature awoke, the Valokas investigated it personally, and was disgusted. It’s body was bloated, corpselike, stinking. Its very presence in ithersta felt wrong. Its teeth stretched outward, and it grinned, as it gnawed at a gaping wound on its arm.

** **

“What are you, foul creature?” He said in horror, in rage. It tittered, rancid blood running down its face.

** **

“I have no name, oh peerless one.” It giggled, peeling away a chunk of flesh. It crawled closer to the Valokas, and the Valokas reflexively stepped back.

** **

“Away with you. You’re not welcome here.” He said in anger. The thing looked up at him, gaping mouth like a void of blood and teeth like an abandoned graveyard.

** **

“King.” It said hoarsely. “Emperor of light. Prince of sun. I’m one of your citizens too. Your children. Let me stay. You woke me up too. Don’t send me away.” The Valokas’s face twisted in fury.

** **

“You are not one of my children, you wretched, sickening thing. Away with you! Or I’ll rip you apart.” 

** **

The creature fell at his feet. 

** **

“Mercy!” It cried. “Look at my child. Needs my meat to feed it. My child shall starve. Please, kind king-” 

** **

“LEAVE!” Shouted the Valokas, his voice booming across the realities and the creature drew back. As the creature watched in horror, The Valokas withdrew a long, golden axe out of the very air around him, and pointed it at the creature.

** **

“Sickening thing. You poison my land. My beautiful creation! If you do not leave, I’ll cleave you and your foul spawn to shreds and leave you for the birds! Go!” 

** **

And the creature, bitter black tears dripping down its face, turned and fled. The Valokas watched it go, satisfied.

** **

But of course, there were more. They grew in the trees, from the ground itself, in the streams. Some were filthy. Some had gaping open wounds. Some were fleshless, but bloody all the same. They called him their king. Their father. They sickened him, and he sent away. 

** **

The ones who wouldn’t cooperate, he killed with an air of righteous joy. They deserved it. All of them. They polluted his land and made it sick, and wrought terror on his beloved ithersta.

** **

If these creatures were thoughtless, they would have perished in the void between worlds. Without a proper place to settle themselves, they would have met their fate very quickly, and the story might have ended there. But it did not. They did not. These creatures were odd, that was to be certain. They could be frightening, true, but the truth remained that they meant no harm to anything, or anyone. And like any other living thing, they were equipped with self preservation, and it was this feeling, this force that sent them to Mabuka.

** **

And Mabuka, who was changing still, though she did not recognize it yet, did what she had to do. It was time for her to create.

** **

X-X-X

“Is it enough?” She asked it. It was a twisted creature, its spine parallel to the floor, its right arm snapped neatly at the elbow with its forearm dangling limply. It shuffled on legs that ended right at the knee, and it’s neck bent at an angle that would have been life threatening to a human. Still, it smiled with a lipless, toothless mouth, and nodded to the best of its abilities. 

** **

“You are so kind, Lady Mabuka! So kind. A more painful bed I have never slept in. So thoughtful! So wretched! I could not be happier rolling in maggots.”

** **

Mabuka eyed the bed in the creatures meagre residence. Covered in broken glass and nails, it was not a place you or I would wish to sleep, but to one of the odd creatures, nothing better could be found. The rest of its home was furnished similarly. A pipe had burst somewhere, leaking fetid water onto the floor, which was littered with broken metal fragments. A pantry nearby was filled to the brim with rotting food. Mabuka smiled wearily. Thirty other of these creatures had been given homes such as this one. It was true that her reality, now determined as the fifth reality, had not been put together with as much sense and careful thought as Ithersta, but if the denizens were comfortable, that was enough for her. Mabuka bowed, said her goodbyes, and left. More and more creatures appeared everyday, sore and ragged and pained, some bleeding, many with children and family. The Reality grew everyday. 

** **

But so did her fear. 

** **

She had always known, somewhere in the back of her mind that the Valokas was not a perfect person. He could be selfish. Impatient. Quick to anger. She had dismissed this, of course, as lovers often do. So often, when the one we love shows signs of humanity, of being a flawed individual, we look for ways to explain it, to justify it, to ignore it. Sadly, this was the way of Mabuka. In her mind, as long as he did not break his promises, she loved him still, and would not leave his side. But she could not ignore everything. A change was coming, in more ways than one.

** **

She had heard her citizens cries. They spoke of the Valokas sending them away. Harming them. Shunning them. And though Mabuka did not want to believe it, she knew somewhere in her heart that it was true. And very soon, something would have to be done about it.

** **

Mabuka made her way to Primeve slower than her usual pace, with an unusual sharp, stabbing pain in her abdomen. She dismissed it as she had been dismissing it for the last few seasons. It ebbed and waned and grew in varying levels of pain. But what was a little pain to her? She had more things to worry about, with her newfound Monarchy.

** **

When she arrived at the Valokas’s sanctuary, he greeted her as he always had, embracing her warmly, pressing a kiss to her temple. These she bore patiently, before straightening, and looking at the Valokas.

** **

“I have something to speak to you about.” She said firmly. “I want you to be honest. Will you?” The Valokas frowned, but nodded. She sighed, and sank down into a chair he offered her, absentmindedly rubbing her stomach. She watched the Valokas, willing herself to be wrong, for her citizens to be mistaken. She took a breath.

** **

“Valokas. Each day, each season, each century, more and more creatures come to my reality seeking sanctuary. They cry out for peace, for justice.” The Valokas looked enraged.

** **

“They have come to you, the foul things? Never fear. I shall banish them once and for all. For you, my love.” Mabuka’s mouth fell open in horror. It was true. It was all true.

** **

“No!” She cried, darting to her feet. “I had hoped they were mistaken, Valokas! I had hoped it was not true. Can it be true? Tell me it isn’t, that you have not done this terrible act.” The Valokas watched her in shock.

** **

“Do… Mabuka, do you sympathize with these creatures? These monsters?” 

** **

“They are not monsters, Valokas! They are living creatures, they have families. They only desire safety, the same as your precious itherstians. How can you do this thing?” 

** **

The Valokas waved his hand dismissively. “They are all the same. Snivelling disgusting worms that would leech the beauty and vitality out of my land. If you do not take caution my love, they shall do the same to you!” 

** **

“You are wrong.” She snarled, overcome suddenly with sudden rage. “They are innocent. Did any of them raise their hand against you?” The Valokas scoffed, and did not answer.

** **

“Valokas. I beg you.” Mabuka’s voice turned soft, pleading. The Valokas scowled. “Please, you must stop. You always knew I was not as you are… Can you not see that as you reject and wound these innocent creatures, you reject and wound me?”

** **

The Valokas froze. 

** **

“If you compare yourself to them…” The valokas said, his voice quiet with rage, “You are no better than them. You are the same as them, a wretched beast that would see my reality destroyed!” 

** **

“No, that is not true. I love you, but I love these creatures as well. Valokas, what keeps you from seeing? You’ve been blinded by the light! You see anything less than perfect as evil!” 

** **

The Valokas snarled and lunged forward, battle ax materialized in his hand.

** **

“You know nothing. You foul wretch. You Queen of maggots, you lady of scum. I ought to do the same to you!” 

Mabuka stood slowly, eyes watering.

** **

“Valokas,” She whispered. “Your promises. Will you break your promises?” At this, the Valokas slowly lowered his ax, breathing heavily. His shoulders rose and fell unsteadily and unevenly as he stared at Mabuka. 

** **

“Forgive me.” He said. “I… my anger… I have simply neglected to remember your importance to me.” Slowly, he reached out, dropping the ax with a wince, and wrapped strong arms robed in gold around Mabuka. He lowered his head into her shoulder.

** **

“I forgive you. Of course I do.” Mabuka whispered. The Valokas nodded imperceptibly.

** **

“Oh my love… This can be easily remedied.” The Valokas said, palm on the center of her spine. Mabuka smiled softly. 

** **

“Of course, my love.” Mabuka said as The Valokas straightened up, and pulled away. He grinned, picking up the ax again.

** **

“All that needs doing, is to cleanse the fifth reality entirely.” Mabuka’s stomach dropped and she took a step backward.

** **

“Explain yourself.” She said, disbelief rising in her. The Valokas smiled. 

** **

“We shall eradicate this filth that clouds your mind, my love. We shall merge our realities, and rule together as one.” He leaned closer, as if to kiss her. She pushed him away.

** **

“You are blind.” She hissed. “You will not see. You have willfully impaired yourself. It is you whose mind is clouded!” The Valokas slowly bared his teeth as he scowled.

** **

“You are a fool.” He said. “If you cannot see sense, Perhaps it would be best for me to show you sense. You foolish, wretched woman. You are one maggot writhing against a million other maggots. They do not see you as a Queen, no, they shall tear you apart one day. And you will have deserved it! If only you could see as I could!” 

** **

And he started forwards, still clutching the ax. 

** **

“Stop!” Mabuka shouted. “Come no closer to me. You are not my love anymore! You break your promises! You have broken my heart. You have betrayed me and my people! You no longer love me. You only love the one who follows you unconditionally! Now I know why you love your citizens so. It is because they’re the only ones who do not question you.” 

** **

And for a moment she stood there breathing fitfully, fists clenched, the pain in her abdomen growing fearfully. A tear rolled down the Valokas’s cheek.

** **

“I only wish for things to be right.” He whispered. 

** **

“No. You wish for things to be light. But without darkness, there is no such thing as light. If you will not listen, if you continue harming my people, my citizens, we will rise against you, and strike you down. You shall harm us no longer.” 

** **

The Valokas stood stiffly, the reality of the situation settling into him. “Do you declare war?” He asked.

** **

“I do.” 

** **

“Then you will have one.”

** **

X-X-X

** **

Mabuka walked to the door, grimacing slightly in the pains that had been plaguing her continuously, without ceasing. Out of courtesy, she knocked. 

** **

After a moment, the door opened. A creature that was nothing more than an enormous eye stared anxiously at her.

** **

“Lady Mabuka,” they said. “How lovely to have you.” Mabuka breezed past them. 

** **

“It is good to see you.” Mabuka said politely. Okhula bowed deeply as an afterthought, which Mabuka waved off.

** **

“Okhula. You see all. I know all that is, but not all that will be. I require your help.” Okhula nodded. “My lady, you have helped me when all else turned against me. I will help you to the best of my abilities.” 

** **

Mabuka braced a palm against her stomach and gritted her teeth. “There is going to be war. Surely you see that already?” Okhula nodded slowly. 

** **

“I need to know what this war will bring. Most importantly, I must know what the future will bring.” Absentmindedly, she considered asking about the mysterious pain that plagued her so, but knew it was not nearly as important as the future of her reality. Okhula leaned backwards slightly, pupil blown wide, iris flittering back and forth as they looked into the unknown. 

** **

“I see… war. Terribly and bloody. Many deaths, on all sides…” Mabuka nodded. She had expected that. “What else?” She asked.

“I see… Shadows. And the Valokas… hateful Valokas… Oh, he is cruel… surrounded by… light? Light creatures like him. I cannot see where they come from.” Mabuka bit her lip in worry. If the Valokas could recruit strange new soldiers, perhaps they would be too strong to beat. 

** **

Okhula suddenly let out a strangled gasp. 

** **

“What? What is wrong?” Mabuka asked in alarm. Okhula straightened up and looked at Mabuka in horror.

** **

“What? Please. Tell me, what is wrong?”

** **

An enormous tear ran down the surface of Okhula’s eye. 

** **

“My Queen,” They muttered. “I see a young man. No more than a child.” Mabuka frowned in confusion. 

** **

“A child? What-” But as she spoke, her hand had been reflexively rubbing her pained stomach, and as she did, she could have sworn, with sudden dawning horror, that she had felt an odd sensation stemming from inside her abdomen. 

** **

A young man. 

** **

A child.

** **

The Valokas. She had-

** **

A pain in her stomach. 

** **

A sensation against her palm. Like-

** **

A kick. The pain, like scraping of little claws, little teeth- 

** **

No.

** **

“My Queen,” Whispered Okhula, crying still. “I am so sorry, my lady. You are with a child.”

** **

She left Okhula’s chamber, practically running.


	2. Rising Conflict

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Valokas visits an old friend. Mabuka meets someone new. Things change, and not entirely for the better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brief warning for canon typical blood/descriptions of gore.

The war did not come quickly. Centuries and seasons passed as both sides resorted themselves to quiet preparations for the battle in the distant future. Neither side, neither dark nor light nor in between knew when the hammer would fall, and the first arrow of war would fly, but it was coming. It was coming. That was undeniable. Whether that came in twelve centuries, or twelve seasons, or twelve days, none could be certain. Not even the oracle Okhula knew for sure.

In the still of the eternal autumnal sunset, The Valokas sat on the terrace of his golden sanctuary, a rough hunk of shimmering, breathing wood in his hands. Nothing of any consequence was on his mind, but strange, flittering thoughts danced below the realm of his consciousness, like little dancers behind an illuminated veil. He wore a discomfiting half-smile that curled at the corner of his mouth.

The Valokas looked onto the horizon of Primeve, to golden sunlight, too proud mountains, outward to secretive forests, and deep oceans, a faint smile on his lips twisting invariably from a grimace to a deranged smile, to a line of calm on his face. As he watched, the sun seemed to dance in the sky, never wavering from its position. There was magic in the air, and his very aura made the world glow painfully bright. His broad golden hands worked, a thin blade smoothing over the rough shimmering wood, bringing forth patterns and shaping it to something new. It was a broad, flat sloped object slowly coming to proper form. When finished, it would suit him well for the war that was coming. He looked towards it with furious glee.

There are some people, so trapped in their pride and willful ignorance that they will go against every attempt made by others to change their viewpoint. They view themselves as higher than any others and refuse to learn. Such was the fate of the Valokas. In his defense, he was kind, and he was indeed golden and bright, and he certainly was intelligent. But a new side of him was coming to the surface. A Cruelty that had never had the chance to be expressed forced his hands to twitch on his knife handle, caused his thoughts to shift to ones of blood and suffering and hideous malformed justice. But in all of this, he saw himself as righteous.

In his mind's eye, he saw Mabuka, her lip curling in rage, sharp teeth flashing like tiny stars. He saw Mabuka, so willfully blind and spiteful. And as the seasons passed, his anger grew each day until he was filled with blind rage at her betrayal and the rejection. And he comforted himself by planning a war, a war gruesome and bloody, ending with the death of the foulness that plagued the realities. And by these twisting, hateful thoughts, he felt a strange anticipatory calm. But in his heart, he was filled with grief.

Some men love with their minds, choosing to love with ration and reason, relying on their wisdom to keep their love afloat. Some men love with their greed, and what they can gain from it. Some men love with anger, and their love is not love at all, but a parasite that feeds on an unwilling host.

The Valokas was not a man who loved with his mind, nor a man who loved with his greed, nor loved with his anger, and while he was a man who used his mind, who possessed some greed and more than some anger, he was not a man who used his love hatefully. (In fact, he was not quite a man at all.) He was at his simplest, a man who loved with the whole of his heart. He loved Ithersta and would defend it until his death. For a time, he had loved Mabuka the same. They had been his two loves, but now he had only one. So he used his grief, his anger, to defend what he had left.

His task done, The Valokas set aside the knife, and raised the newly-made shield to his face, admiring the loops and whorls of the eyes, the three dots at the mouth, the sturdiness of the material. It would suit him very well indeed.

But he was not yet done. The Valokas stood, making his way down through the sanctuary, to the entrance to the great wilderness of Primeve, and began to walk.

Mabuka stuck in his mind, The Valokas wandered past denizens and forest alike. Past boulders and stones the size of houses with runes strewn across their broad backs, the writing unknown to anyone but the most ancient beings of ithersta and Primeve. The Valokas walked over a great and tumultuous sea, over a mountain, without even the desire to will himself across or to the top. He simply walked, no set destination in mind, but all the while he thought.

Mabuka’s blood-red hair.

Mabuka’s golden eyes.

Mabuka’s smile, which he so rarely saw. None of it would leave him.

He contemplated to himself all that he did not know. In his opinion, that was very little. He was certain, in his great golden heart, that Mabuka was simply confused. He still wished somewhere deeply that she would simply forget, and both of them could be united once more. He knew it was possible still- all that would require doing was asking her forgiveness.

But the Valokas had never been wrong. He did not like to think of himself as someone who could be wrong. And the thought of admitting that he was wrong sickened him. Thus, he decided war was inevitable.

There was no darkness in the whole of Primeve or Ithersta. Not even in wintertime, the darkest time of the year. But now, as his thoughts drove him farther and farther, down a deeper and more hateful path, the Valokas found himself longing for someplace quiet and dark, to think properly. And without him knowing it, his feet took him to the place of his birth, the place he had always solemnly distrusted somewhere in the back of his mind.

He found himself walking back to the realm of stillness.

X-X-X

Mabuka looked up into a black sky of quiet tranquility. There were no stars in the fifth reality. Neither could she make any. Distantly, she knew perhaps the Valokas had the power to create them, but she did not allow herself to even think of him anymore. Though she did not know when the war would begin, she had already set herself to preparing her army, their resources, and protecting the young and weakest of the fifth reality. It seemed all days and all nights the world had become a world of chaos and anxiety. She could not hide the war from her citizens, but, in telling them of the battle to come, she feared she had only worried them more.  
But a Queen does not have the luxury of allowing her worries and fears to intervene with the future. And though Mabuka was worried indeed, she took comfort in that any obstacles she might encounter could be foretold by Okhula.

But in all this, she still refused to acknowledge the child (or monster? It was the spawn of the Valokas, after all.) growing inside her, though every day the pain grew as well.

“Take care, your majesty.” Okhula would caution her. “Who knows what that child may become? I ask you, please watch over yourself. Protect you and it. Fear not, it is a secret for you and me only…” But this did not comfort her. Okhula, for all their powers of the oracle, was capable of being outstandingly vague and unhelpful at times. Mabuka, in all of her life, had never known what it was to be a Mother, nor to be part of a family in any way. She was the daughter of the void, of the realm of stillness, but something told her it had never been as a typical family.

She wondered often, in the back of her mind, how the child would enter the world. And when. But she knew there were other things to think of and decided against dwelling on it.

One day, Mabuka stood in her den, listening to the sound of her beating heart, as her hands worked on a strange new object. A flat, sloped shape with looping whorls of gold on top, slits for eyes, an enigmatic mouth, perfect to shield and hide her face. That mattered the most. She could not bear the thought of the Valokas seeing her true self again, searching for potential weakness in it, as she knew he would. Indeed, he would take great joy in finding any grief.

“Well.” She said, smiling slightly, despite her pain. “He shall not find any at all.”

Not much time later, she felt a pain in her stomach so intense, the world seemed to turn grey around her. She sank to her knees, crying out, fisting her hand into the unyielding flesh of her stomach. When she withdrew her hand, blood, thick and black stained it.

At that moment, realizing precisely what was happening, Mabuka felt a strange sense of hideous calm.

X-X-X

Two realities have gone unmentioned. One is relevant to this story. The other is relevant to another story not to be told for some millions of years. The first was the realm of death, the fourth realm. But it had not yet been birthed and was sleeping still.

The second was the reality of humanity, which had only begun to take its first steps. Mabuka and the Valokas did not concern themselves with either of these. But little did they know that their actions would directly affect both of these realms. Would they have acted differently? Likely not. The fourth reality slept on, as did its future citizens. But one woke.

How he did is unknown. Perhaps the death in the human realm woke him. Perhaps he was so intrinsically different from his kind that he could not stay dormant as they did.

Perhaps he willed himself awake. Who could tell?

He was Itward, and he named himself, and declared himself as the walker between worlds, for in choice between realms of light, realms of dark, and realms of humanity and a realm still sleep, he could choose none as his preferred home. So he moved where the wind went, befriending and scorning when or if he saw fit. And he was wise, but foolish in that he would take no sides. He knew of the upcoming war too. How could he? Perhaps he heard whispers. Perhaps he merely knew, in that odd cosmic sense that told Mabuka the ways of the world.

Itward twisted the bolt tighter in its place, huffing in exertion. The machine was very nearly ready. All that was necessary was to give it its purpose, as all things needed. And when it was finished, it would carry him farther than any portal of his ever could. And in the meantime, he frequented Ithersta, enamored with its curious folk and bizarre flows of time. Of course, he prepared for the war, but not to fight or take sides. Only to observe. Some reproached him for this, but it would do no good. Itward could not be said to be good or evil. He was only himself. And whether he conversed with Palontras, the doctor of the second reality, King Ziar, and even the Valokas himself once or twice, all could agree that the one thing about him that remained the same constantly was his neutrality and his oddness. He was a confusion to all who came across him.

But, despite all of this, he still waited for the war as everyone else did; with an air of frightened excitement. He had no plan in life as of yet, for he did not see the future as it would be. But he knew, just as any other discerning creature would, that his role would be invaluable. The gates to the realities were open, free. So he came and went as he pleased. But he knew it would not last that way forever. A day would come when the realities would be sealed when any coming and going would require permissions… or back doors one could slip through, if only they knew the way.

The flying machine would be his back door. As well as another trick he had up his sleeve. The ability to open portals through the realities. As of now, Itward knew of how fleeting his freedoms would be. So he concocted a plan to continue his wandering.

And he readied himself all the while for the war that was fast approaching.

X-X-X

The Valokas arrived in the realm of stillness as he had first come. Quiet, unnerved, and tense. He watched the darkness around him shift and flutter like a thick black curtain. It had not changed in millennia.

“Speak to me.” He said, after many minutes of silence punctured only by his heavy, frightened breaths. But no answer came. His anger grew.

“

You spoke to her.” He accused the void. “Why won’t you speak to me? She learned everything from you!” But again, no response came.

“I am born of you too.” He said finally. “I want to know. I want to hear what she heard. I want to know what will happen.”

But the truth is very simple. When one accepts their destiny from birth, they are very likely to stick to it and never stray from it again. Any attempts they make to leave will be very hard-won. And the Valokas chose his destiny the moment he chose to leave the realm of silence, and enter Ithersta. Whether this was the right decision or not is not to be said. But the truth of the matter is that the Valokas, not contented with the destiny of his birth, made his own. And in doing so, he changed his path forever. The realm of stillness would never speak to him because he had closed his senses off from its whispers. In dealing only with matters of the light, he had permanently turned himself away from the world of the dark.

In short, the Valokas had blinded and deafened himself to the whispers of the void.

But how could he have known this? It could not be said that the Valokas ever intentionally chose light over dark. He only went where his heart took him. But it was too late to change his course now. He was the king of light eternally.

Unknowing of this, the Valokas waited desperately and anxiously for a message that was forever lost to him, ignorant that as his patience grew thinner and thinner, his child was being born.

X-X-X

The pain had ended long ago. How long, Mabuka could not be sure of. But now she lay somewhere in a dark, warm place, a blanket of some kind strewn across her body. Despite the warmth, she shivered. Her hand moved to her midsection. As she felt her way across it, she felt flesh crudely reshaped together, healed to the best of an unlearned healer's ability, slightly jagged and misshapen, but whole once more. She took a deep breath of relief. The sound of her heartbeat filled the room, the deep pulse of her life surrounding her. The walls, both the essence of her and her domain at the same time, fluttered with the ethereal rhythm. The pain was gone at last.

The odd snuffling and screech of something like an animal in pain filled the space. Mabuka knew what it was somewhere, distantly in the back of her mind, but now she was tired. She felt as though she could sleep forever. As if the one act of bringing forth the Valokas’s spawn had drained her lifeforce. Slowly, within the realm of her vision, a tall creature, bones protruding through the skin, blood seeping from its many wounds approached holding a small object wrapped in the dirty fabric in its broken arms. If she had bothered to read its expression, she would have seen something like tenderness. The truth of the citizens of the fifth reality was this; despite their frightening appearance, their strange behaviors, they loved. They knew of families, of kindness, and they loved and treasured the ones close to them. Their love was different than yours or mine, but they loved all the same. Slowly, the creature set the Object into Mabuka’s dormant arms.

“Princcccce.” It mumbled through a crooked and bleeding mouth, which twisted into an approximation of a gentle smile. “Sssssweet little baby princcce.” It grinned down at Mabuka, who sat up.

“What?” Mabuka said, attempting to connect herself with this brand new situation. Her hand felt the rehealed skin of her stomach once more. The creature grimaced.

“Forgivenessssss.” It said apologetically. Another creature beside it came into view. This one was not quite a person or creature. Its face was malformed and confusing, but it smiled a recognizable smile of pure joy.  
“We tried to heal you…. But flesh is strange to heal, and we are not healers, Lady Mabuka…. It tore its way out. Forgive us… We did the best we could…” They bowed and stepped back slightly. Mabuka took her eyes off them, to look at the little object in her arms.

Mabuka had never seen a baby before. It was smaller than any itherstian she had ever seen. Even the children of Ithersta had been bigger than it. It was wrapped tightly in grimy, blood-stained cloth. Its face was white like bone, translucent blue veins running up and down its skin.

“A prince?” She asked dully. The first creature nodded, smiling.

“Ssssuch an ugly princccee.” It proclaimed. “How lucky you are..” Mabuka did not respond.

Other names came easily to her. This one did not. She watched with some wonder as the child opened his eyes. They were black as ink, and she smiled. But as she watched, a burst of light seemed to grow in them, and to her horror, they became as golden and bright as-

“He has his father’s eyes.” She whispered.

“My Queen?”

“...Nevermind. You may go, the both of you. I thank you for… for your assistance.”

And then she was alone with the stranger. She stared at him, unaware she was crying until a black tear ran down her face. Slowly, she brought her face to his and thought.

“Who are you?” She whispered. “Where did you come from? How did you come to me in such a painful way?” He truly must be the Valokas’s child, she thought to herself. He left me in such a painful way, exactly as the Valokas. She turned her eyes away from the child who had so viciously torn his way out of her, utilizing tiny teeth, tiny claws. She grimaced her thoughts a flurry. The child knew how to harm. How best to inflict pain. Exactly as her wicked, cruel, hateful Valokas, with his sweetened words, kind smile, his tender eyes.

Could she keep this child with her, raise him as her son, look at him every day and see the Valokas’s eyes as well? Could she live with the Valokas’s spawn?

But it wasn’t the child’s fault. It had never asked for her scorn. It only wanted to live. Just as her citizens did…

It was not the Valokas’s child at all, she thought. His eyes are the same, no more. He is more like me than he is like him. Would I detest the sun for glowing as the Valokas did? No. If this child was a mirror image of the Valokas, I would not see him as the Valokas. I would see him as my son.

She realized then, in that exact moment, the full extent of Okhula’s prophecy, and the dreadful suffering and pain this child would endure. She felt such terrible guilt brewing within her, and remorse for his existence, and her part in it.

Remorse...

“Remor.” She whispered, placing a light kiss on her son’s face. “You are not his son. You are mine. You are Remor. For all of my Remorse. For all of the pain of the world… You will be its master.”

And he would be, indeed.

X-X-X

The Valokas made his lonely way back home, back to the golden sanctuary, and drove the darkness from his mind. He took into his hand the completed shield, and, in the manner of closing and locking a chest full of secrets too terrible to be spoken, he placed it over his face. Though he did not say it or even think of it, his heart was broken, and the pieces that were left were as glass shards.

He searched desperately for a way to reason with himself as to why the realm of stillness would not speak to him, and, finding none, searched then for a way to express his anger, his heartbreak, his callousness.

In his grief, he thought of Mabuka and realized then that he hated her, as he had hated no one else before. He thought then that, if he had had the chance, he would have liked to see her dead before any of her wretched citizens. It was she who had broken his heart. It was she who had called for war. Perhaps it was even she who had closed his ears and eyes to the secrets of the void.

"I'll have her _head_." The Valokas snarled to himself, not noticing the tears running down his face. For grief and heartbreak express themselves in different ways. They can be manageable, but the Valokas had never known how to manage his emotions, for, in his eyes, every emotion he felt was justified and right, and therefore deserved to be expressed with the whole of his abilities. The Valokas dropped his head into his hands, consumed then by furious, heartbroken sobs.

"I'll make her suffer," He whispered hoarsely. "I'll make her see. She'll learn what it means to defy me!"

But none of this would soothe his misery.

  
X-X-X

Mabuka, who always set herself to a task with the whole of her abilities, took very good care of her son. Before, she had been a Queen, and that was of great importance to her, but now, with this new being alongside her, she redefined herself. Now, she was no longer simply a Queen. She was a mother as well. And she made up her mind, after her son's birth, to raise him to the best of her abilities, to raise him to be the prince, and eventually king their reality would need one day. She felt safer, somehow, with him in her arms. It gave her strength and vigor to have something to protect, something to love more fiercely than herself. And she found, despite his father, she did love him. Very much.

Often, she found herself pretending that this little child was entirely of herself, that the Valokas had nothing to do with it, that he was no more Father to this child than he was her husband. But she knew, deep down, that could never be so. She often worried to herself about what the Valokas might do if he found out about his son, and, for that reason, decided to keep the child's father a secret, even to the child himself. It was for the best, she decided.

She redeclared her title to reflect her new status. No longer was she simply 'Queen Mabuka.' As of now, she knew herself as Mother Mabuka, mother of the eternal darkness, Queen of the fifth reality, the end of light, the guardian of sufferers. As for her son, he would be Prince of darkness, the heir to her throne one day, the child of the night. She watched over him pridefully. If he truly had a place in this war, Mabuka knew it was her task to ensure he was fully prepared for it, as one can never escape their destiny. And she readied herself all the while for the battle to come.

A change was coming to the world. The Valokas sensed it but did not know it. Mabuka, holding her new son in her arms as she introduced the citizens of the reality to their new prince, sensed it, but had always known it was coming. Itward, the walker between worlds, welcomed it. Ziar, the newly appointed general of Ithersta's quickly-amassing army, who could not sense and did not know, felt all the same anxious over the future. The denizens of all realities, from youngest to oldest, felt strangely threatened by a sense that all they knew and loved, would, sooner than they thought, be changed permanently forever. And whether they were light or dark or in between, none liked it.

But it was coming all the same. It was in every corner of Ithersta and no citizen could deny the future. The news of the war spread through every reality, and even the humans in the third reality, still in a civilization new and unchallenged, felt in their bones that something lay ahead. Something terrible and monstrous. Seers and oracles throughout the realities, though they were few and far between, took to losing themselves in their prophecies, looking as far ahead to the future as they could, turning themselves away from the present. And through all of this, one thing and one thing only remained static; That the change was centered around Mother Mabuka, The Great Valokas, and the newly born Prince Remor.


	3. The Calm Before The Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things get worse, but not as bad as they're going to get.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains scenes of gore, though nothing a fan of Fran Bow shouldn't be able to handle. It takes place during the fighting scenes.

Millennia on top of millennia had passed since the day the Valokas and Mabuka had woken up in the realm of stillness. Many centuries had passed since the Valokas and Mabuka had declared each other to be nemesis. And the Prince Remor had only just turned twelve-hundred when Mabuka, who had at that moment, been carefully explaining to him the best way to wield a dagger in one's hand, looked up at the reddened sky, an expression of hidden anxiety clear in her face. Remor, who had been listening intently, as well as wondering vaguely and privately to himself exactly how much necessity there was in wielding a dagger when one could simply lift their hand and curse their opponent to dust-if they were skilled enough, (as he considered himself to be,) when he noticed his mother’s expression.

“What’s wrong?” He asked curiously. Mabuka slowly turned her head, looking down at him appraisingly.

** **

It was coming. This time, it was. It had been on its way for many centuries, but the air around her had changed. The Valokas had readied his armies, as had Mabuka. But if she listened deeply, pressing her senses into the very seams of reality itself, she thought she could hear a sound of repetitive thunder on the ground.

** **

The march of steady footsteps. How long until they arrived? Where would the first strike on her people take place? She knew time was of the essence, that her army must be there to meet the Valokas’s army before any damage could be done. She rose to her feet, betraying her anxiety.

“What’s right, would be a better question.” She replied, smiling in an attempt to cover her moment of weakness. Remor smiled back, blissfully ignorant of his mother’s internal struggle. He stood as well, mimicking her in the way most children do before they have individualized themselves. Mabuka reached out, stroking his face, before stepping away, pulling on her gloves.

** **

“Remor, the time is almost at hand.” They had spoken of this before. Mabuka held nothing from her son.

** **

Well. Almost nothing.

** **

Remor’s eyes widened. “The Valokas? The time of war?” He said, voice trembling, though whether it was fear or excitement was anyone’s guess. Mabuka sighed, nodded, and went for her shield which was strapped to her belt.

** **

“I shall rally our forces,” She said, forcing herself to be calm. “We must keep a level head, child. You go now, back to my den. We must begin constructing shelters. Our citizens, the ones who will not fight, must be defended. Okhula will need to know of this, I’m certain.” (Okhula already knew, of course.) Remor nodded, picking up his dagger, slipping it back into the sheath. “What will I do, mother?” He asked. Mabuka turned back to him.

** **

“As I have told you already. Go to my den. I will rejoin you when it’s time. When it is necessary, you shall be a healer to the wounded. Your talent lies there. (For Remor was a skilled healer.) Go now.” Remor scowled, went to argue, but, seeing his mother’s expression, thought better of it, and left. Mabuka sighed deeply, and readied herself, knowing at that moment, as she knew so many things, that the Valokas would desire to speak with her first. Her armies were prepared to defend their kingdom. The citizens would be readied, ushered to safety. Remor would be protected. It was time to face him.

** **

She turned and made her way there.

** **

X-X-X

** **

The Valokas’s army was powerful. He knew this. There was not a doubt in his mind on their capabilities. But these detestable creatures of the fifth reality were crafty and clever. There was no telling what they would do. They marched onward, passing through the realities until the red sky told him they had arrived. But as they marched onward, there came a smudge of approaching darkness on the horizon.

** **

Mabuka’s army. The Valokas held up a fist enclosed in a golden gauntlet, signaling his army to halt. The Valokas walked forward, seeing a distant figure, enclosed in black armor approach as well, independent of its companions. He smiled grimly. Mabuka. Fighting among these creatures? Perhaps she was truly dedicated to this reality. The two drew nearer and nearer until they were a stone's throw away.

** **

“Turn back.” She called to him. He chuckled with no amusement. Her face was covered by a grotesque white mask, her red eyes glowing out of it like pits of fire. To think he had once thought her beautiful.

** **

“Are you surrendering?” He asked her. She stood still, betraying no emotion. This war held no glee for her, unlike the Valokas, who relished in it. She very slowly shook her head.

** **

“We have not wronged you,” She said, hand drifting to her hip, where her sword rested in its sheath. “There is no need for bloodshed. Turn back and let us leave each other to our deeds.” The Valokas laughed openly at this.

** **

“You are a coward.” He said, smiling after her, though hidden by his shield as well. “Any bloodshed here is necessary. It will be a cleansing force on your land. But if you truly desire peace… Surrender and I will yield.” Mabuka took a very deep breath, the weight of the world on her armored shoulders.

** **

“I do not desire war,” She said, speaking lowly. “But you demand it. Let it be known we are only defending ourselves from your tyranny.” And with that, she turned away, back to her army. The Valokas watched her in quiet rage. It would be so very simple, at this moment, to take up his ax, plunge it into her retreating back. What was a hive without its queen? But, with the whole of his army watching him, he knew this would not be advisable. Instead, he nodded deeply and held up his hand once more, Mabuka watching him at the front of her battalion line. The Valokas drew a deep breath.

** **

“ATTACK!” He cried.

** **

And then they were upon them.

** **

X-X-X

** **

They clashed together, black and white, gold and silver, night and day. The armies converged upon each other, and the ensuing chaos could hardly be recounted in its entirety. An Itherstian soldier drove a wooden spear through the chest of a soldier of darkness, the spear then coming to life, growing branches outward through the soldier’s skin, until they hung limply suspended, dead, their blood slicking the ground. Another soldier, scarcely distinguishable as one of Mabuka’s save for the black of her armor, sent a flaming arrow into the rough bark of an itherstian soldier, alighting it instantly. The Itherstian soldier shrieked and flailed, twisting grotesquely until the flames had consumed her and she crumbled to ashes on the ground. Countless soldiers, all living, all with dreams, all the same in the desire to protect their realities tore into each other, bringing down one opponent, only to be felled by the next. In all of this, Mabuka stood tall, spear in one hand, fighting closely alongside her soldiers, bringing down opponents beyond number. Indeed, the other side seemed barely capable of touching her, let alone wounding her. For though she was a Queen, she was also a fighter, and she was as strong as she was wise.

** **

The Valokas, however, watched from a slight distance. Indeed, he took part in the fighting, but he rode aloft on a strange steed hewn from living bark and wood, and it carried him swiftly through the carnage, as he struck down soldiers with a powerful sweep of his golden battle-ax, his robes, and shield now stained with blood. At one point, his eyes, the only thing not covered by his shield, met Mabuka’s, and they shared a look carrying the same thought, the same feeling, the same understanding.

** **

I will fell you, and you will never rise again, the look said, though the reasoning behind this thought differed between the two of them.

** **

The Valokas smiled. He had found himself a new purpose, a new love beyond that of his reality. Righteous carnage. It brought him great joy to see these wretched soldiers of darkness brought to the ground, soaking the dirt with their blood, the deadleeworms already at work to pick them clean.

** **

And all around him, the battle raged on, until three days had passed. At nightfall on the third day, the Valokas surveyed the damage on the battlefield and raised his fist once more to reconvene his army. Slowly, they returned to him. Mabuka watched him carefully.

** **

“We retreat for now,” He addressed the armies. “To collect our wounded and rest. The fighting shall resume tomorrow.” And with that, they retreated to make camp. Mabuka watched them for several moments, breathing heavily, before turning to her army. Many were dead, many were wounded, but many remained. She sighed and lowered her spear.

** **

“That goes for us as well,” She called to her soldiers. “Make camp here. There is no need to bring the carnage to our citizens. Rest as well as you can and tend to our wounded.”

** **

In the meantime, she ventured back to her den to collect Remor.

** **

X-X-X

** **

Remor sighed, scrubbing his face tiredly, Okhula across from him. He lifted his head, stretching out wearily.

** **

“Is there nothing you can tell me?” He asked once more. Okhula shook their head. It had been this way for the last three days, remaining in the haven of Mabuka’s den.

“Once more, nothing I have to say is for me to tell you.” Remor sighed and stood up.

** **

“I don’t want to stay here.” He declared to no one in particular. “I’m a prince. I should be fighting alongside her. I can fight. I could help. How do I know they’re not being slaughtered out there?” Okhula said nothing. Remor, suddenly grasped by a frightening idea he had not thought of before, turned back to them.

** **

“...They’re not, are they?” His eyes were wide with worry. Okhula slowly shook their head, and Remor sighed for what felt like the hundredth time. He sat back down. “You can tell me that, but you can’t even tell me who’s winning?” He asked irritably.

** **

“Your mother would not like me to tell you,” Okhula said, emotion imperceptible.

** **

“How do you know? Did she tell you that?”

** **

“No. I simply-”

** **

“Foresaw it. Alright. What I don’t understand is what she’s afraid of. She’s the one who taught me. I know I wouldn’t fail her.” Okhula raised their pupil to him.

** **

“She isn’t afraid of you failing her.” Remor threw up his hands in anger, dismissing Okhula’s words.

** **

“Well, I don’t understand what good I’m doing sitting here! I could be helping her. This is pathetic.” Okhula straightened up suddenly. Remor, not noticing, continued.

** **

“I have to convince her, somehow, what I can do. I’ll tell her. She just doesn’t understand-”

** **

“She’s coming here,” Okhula said, suddenly. Remor straightened up, cut off halfway.

** **

“She is?” He said, disbelieving. Okhula nodded. “Yes, Prince. Right now.” Remor grinned, and then stopped grinning. “...Is she alright? You have to tell me that. She’d want me to know.”

** **

“She is not harmed. She is coming to get you.”

** **

Remor grinned, not at all unlike the Valokas’s sick smile. Then, as he turned to the door, Mabuka entered.

** **

“Mother!” He cried, swiftly going to her. She smiled wearily, taking his hand.

** **

“Have you been well, my child?” She asked him. Remor nodded.

** **

“Good. I have need of you. We have many wounded. I require your talent to make them well. Come along, young one.” Remor, startled by the admission, came along silently, walking with her quickly. Mabuka bid Okhula a silent farewell, and they made their way together to the camp.

** **

“Are we losing?” Remor said suddenly, disturbing the silence between them. Mabuka surprised by his speaking, looked at him for a moment.

** **

“No more than they are, I believe. It is only the first battle. There will be more to come. Who can say what the outcome shall be?” Remor thought over this.

** **

“Mother?” He asked quietly, once again disturbing the silence.

** **

“Yes, Remor?”

** **

“I want to be useful.”

** **

“You are. You are the healer. That is what is needed.”

** **

Remor came to a stop. “It isn’t. Anyone could do that. I want to fight.” Mabuka’s heart fell into her stomach. Involuntarily, she recalled the thread of prophecy Okhula had foretold. She stopped as well, something similar to anger but not directed at her son welling up in her. She spun towards him, lunging forward. Remor started in shock, startled by her sudden passion.

** **

_“You,”_ She hissed, shaking a finger at him, “Will not so much as step _foot_ onto that battlefield. You will _never_ so much as hold a sword. You are not going to fight.” Remor’s mouth fell open as she began to walk forward once more.

** **

“I-” He began, but Mabuka looked towards him with a look of such fury, he could find no will to continue his sentence, quieted himself, and followed her, head down. Together, they arrived at the tent that housed the wounded, and Mabuka, incapable of finding a word to say that didn’t villainize herself further to her son, found only the barest satisfaction in embracing him suddenly and without warning, lightly stroking his hair, before stepping away.

** **

“Put on your veil.” She said, not meeting his eyes. Remor reached for the scarf around his neck and wrapped it so it hung over his face, with only a small opening for his eyes. Mabuka shielded her face as well.

“Good.” Mabuka nodded in distant approval. “You know what must be done. Do as much as you can for them. They are dependant upon you.” Remor nodded silently, moving to open the tent flap.

“Remor?” She said, surprising herself once more. Remor turned to look upon her, expectant.

Mabuka, in the deepness of her well of emotion, desired to spill forth the truth of the prophecy, her fear, her terror of losing him, how he was all she had, the only person she could love, now that she was alone save for her citizens, about how her life would be blank without him, how she wanted nothing more than his safety, for him to escape the war unharmed. The words, the feelings, the love rose to her mouth like a fish climbing a waterfall- and fell once more.

“I love you.” She said quietly. Remor smiled lightly underneath his veil.

“I love you too, mother.” He said and entered the tent.

Just as well he did not know, she reasoned with herself desperately. Perhaps if he did not know, the prophecy could be sidestepped somehow.

Perhaps.

** **

X-X-X

** **

And so the war raged on, through centuries upon centuries. And the number of the dead rose and rose on both sides, until their bodies were apart of the landscape itself, growing apart of the dirt, their blood soaking the earth until it was as if one could not take a step without walking on top of them. But still, the war raged on.

Yet as soldiers died, families lost their loved ones, and the death count rose higher and higher, it seemed that neither side could rise above the other. They were constantly on equal footing, and each side grew desperate in their attempt to gain some advantage on one another. However, this would not come to pass until the day Prince Remor turned fifteen-hundred. It was true that his talents in healing the wounded were invaluable to Mabuka’s cause, indeed, it seemed that he could pass his hand over one nearly dead, and they would be ready to fight the next morning. But in all of this, he despised his role, seeking the thrill of war, identical to the same war-hungry spirit of his father.

** **

The day had been long, and wearisome. Neither side could triumph over the other, and the Mabuka’s soldiers were exhausted with the constant struggle to best the other side. They trudged wearily back to their fireside, their tents, in a vain attempt to rest a bit and regain their strength until the fighting commenced once more. Remor found himself constantly busy with the ever-present flow of wounded soldiers to heal. However, as the day became night, he left the tent, to find his mother. He found her in her tent, poring over a map of the battlefield. Somberly, Remor removed the scarf from his face, watching her carefully.

** **

“We’re at an impasse.” He spoke up. Mabuka looked up tiredly and nodded.

** **

“That we are. I am unsure of what the future holds. We must not back down, that much is certain, but I fear this war will continue until all of us, both dark and light, are dead.”

** **

Remor nodded gravely and planned his words. He allowed the silence to fall once more, waiting until he had carefully thought out his plea to his mother. When he had built his courage to the highest level, he spoke.

** **

“Let me be commander. The general of your army. Let me fight and lead us to victory.”

** **

“No, Remor.” Remor was silent, but not dissuaded.

** **

“Give me permission to fight by your side.” He said, standing firm.

“No.” She said, standing firmer.

** **

“Let me prove myself.”

** **

“I will not.”

** **

“Let me. I owe it to our citizens.”

** **

“You do not. I will not allow it.”

** **

“I’m strong enough.” Mabuka turned her face from him, with the air of dismissing a small child.

** **

“Mother, I am! I’m your son. Who could be stronger than our family?” Mabuka deliberately avoided the question, standing, Remor watching her fervently.

** **

“I deserve this responsibility! I’m the prince of the fifth reality!” He said, rigidly calm.

** **

“And I am the Queen. And I say you will not go. You are a healer. That is what our army desperately needs. You excel at it. I tell you, you will not fight.”

** **

“But-” Remor began again. She held up a hand, eyes blazing red.

** **

“I said no.” She hissed. “I have told you before. We have spoken of this already. You will not! I will not allow you, a child still, to fight and lose your life.” Remor stood furiously silent.

** **

I cannot lose you. You are all I have. Mabuka thought but had not the strength to speak. Remor took a deep breath, suddenly surprisingly calm.

** **

“If,” he began. “If you don’t let me stand by your side… if your answer remains the same, I have no choice but to obey you. But-” Here he held up a hand to Mabuka before she could respond. “If you refuse me, you are saying I am not capable to protect our citizens. You are telling me I am too weak to be of any real use. You always told me I would be king someday. How can I be king if I am worthless to you, to them? Give me a chance. Please. Mother. Please.”

** **

Mabuka thought. A soldier who was willing to fight and die for their kingdom was invaluable to a monarchy. But a prince who was willing to fight and die was another matter altogether. While Mabuka believed the rulers of a kingdom were not above their citizens, deep down in her heart, she loved Remor so fiercely the thought of losing him caused pain so immense she knew she would not be able to stand it if it came true.

But… to give him a task of true importance… a job that was valuable and useful to their cause, but safe all the same…

** **

Mabuka raised her head in silent contemplation. She calculated the weight of the decision in her head. He was a child. Not even a man yet. Arrogant, like his father. But through all of this, constantly wise. Intelligent. Brave, and unspeakably clever and vicious. He had surprised her before. Perhaps he could surprise her again...

** **

She made her choice.

** **

“You shall be my tactician.” She said. Remor stood very still, unbelieving.

** **

“You… Are you allowing me this task?”

** **

“I am. You shall plan our battles. You shall direct the fighting. If you succeed… If you prove yourself, I will know you are wise enough… brave enough. Responsible enough to live up to my expectations. And, if you continue your training…” She let the sentence falter, sowing the seeds of a bright future in Remor’s mind.

** **

“You’d let me take part in the battles?” Remor said, delighted.

** **

“Perhaps. But you must prove yourself to me, first.” She was startled by Remor’s sudden embrace, vicelike and ecstatic. He squeezed her tightly, before stepping back.

“Mother, thank you! I will not let you down. I’ll show you I am capable. You won’t regret this.” His grin, bright and confident, softened her heart a little bit. She reached for her shield, pulling it over her face. Remor, noticing this, mimicked her with his veil.

** **

“I hope I will not. Or you shall remain as a healer.”

** **

Privately, she hoped to herself that he would, in fact, fail her, if only so he would be forced to avoid the fighting altogether. Mabuka hated to break her promises, and something told her she would be forced to actualize on her words.

** **

After all, there was no avoiding prophecy. Only rewriting it.

** **

X-X-X

** **

But to Mabuka’s eventual dismay, Remor proved to be a splendid tactician. Though he could make little headway in gaining the high ground of the Itherstian army, his tactics and strategy often lead to diminishing the body count on their side, while heightening the others. His bloody tactics and fierce plans won him the title of ‘The Terrible Black’, or ‘Prince of Darkness’ From the Itherstians who knew of him, for he did not often grace the battlefield, but only watch from a safe distance. Mabuka, though she wished not to admit it, found him to be even better than her at leading the war. Their success grew greater and greater with each battle, and Remor grew stronger and stronger each day with his training. During the few instances she had been available to watch him, she was uncomfortably reminded of the Valokas, with his fluid, quick movements, his unyielding strength. Something within her whispered that he may even be useful on the battlefield. When she met Remor’s eyes, she knew it would only be so long before he considered himself to be ready to fight. What could be done? It would be wrong to have him protected on the battlefield by shielding him with any of her soldiers but to allow him to fight at the same level of herself, or any of the other soldiers frightened her. If only there was a way for him to be shielded on the battlefield…

** **

But the answer she both sought after and dreaded came naught but a fortnight later. The battlefield was riddled with bodies, built on the bones of the dead, picked clean or otherwise. The very ground was infused with old blood, spilled in the senseless carnage. And so, something new was born.

** **

They were spotted here and thereby the soldiers of each side, but not often, for they were skilled at hiding themselves, preferring only to come out at night, stalking campfires and secluded tents, feasting on the dregs of fear and anxiety on both sides of the war. Mabuka had only heard rumors of them, but as more and more were born, they soon came to populate the battlefield as thickly as the brawling soldiers themselves. One day, when the fighting had lulled rarely during the daylight, Mabuka stood beside her son, watching a pack of them appearing to be feasting on corpses rotting in the warm sun. Remor, shielded in his newly-constructed goat skull shield, made for his new task of devising plans of war, took a strange, quiet interest in these creatures of shadow.

** **

“What are they?” Mabuka found herself asking. She found herself dreading a new possible opponent to add to this complicated war. Remor shifted thoughtfully, not voicing his thoughts. The two watched the strange creatures that seemed born entirely of shadow. Remor, whose thoughts brewed carefully and quickly beneath his exterior, had a very compelling idea.

** **

“I’m going to speak to them.” He said suddenly. Mabuka turned to face him. “I don’t see what good that will do.” She said cautiously. Remor, stricken by a strange calmness, walked towards the Kamalas, away from his mother. Mabuka, desiring suddenly to stop him, but incapable of finding a reason to, watched him worriedly.

** **

“Be careful!” She called after him. Remor raised a hand in acknowledgment but did not look back, and Mabuka was chilled.

** **

He approached the creatures cautiously, noting the way they rose up, as if able to sense his approach from a distance away. It impressed him greatly. The hackles of the creatures rose. Anxious little things. Remor smiled suddenly.

** **

“Do you serve the Valokas?” He called out to them. Perhaps he could make use of these creatures…

** **

Remor approached them carefully, slowly, hands raised. It would be best not to startle them. They could be dangerous to him.

** **

“My name,” He began, speaking lowly, calmly, utilizing the soft-spoken language of the fifth reality, in case the Itherstians were listening. “Is Remor. ...Perhaps you know that. I am called the Terrible Black, Or the Prince of darkness, and I serve Mother Mabuka. My people, whose corpses you feast on, are the citizens of the realm of darkness. My people and I fight against the Valokas, the king of light. And I… I am here to make you an offer.”

** **

The creatures watched him tensely. Remor could tell they did not know what to make of him. But he realized in that instant, that they could be the key to their victory.

** **

“We have no intention to harm you. But Mother Mabuka and I together can offer you far, far more than the dry pickings of a battlefield. Join us, and we can succeed against the emperor of light. Will you rise up against him with me?”

** **

The creatures looked at one another, and back to him. And as they looked at him, though their faces were expressionless and empty save for a pair of glowing eyes, Remor got the impression they were smiling.

** **

“Excellent.” He says. “Follow me.”

** **

X-X-X

** **

They banded together quickly. Remor named them as the Kamalas, for they had no name otherwise. They became his soldiers, and they aided him in training, became his allies in the camp. Remor knew his training was nearing its end. There would soon come a time he would finally be allowed the privilege to fight, and he looked towards it with growing excitement. The Kamalas would be his guard, as no weapon seemed capable of harming them. Indeed, they seemed to have no weakness.

** **

But one day, Remor and the Kamalas tasked themselves to bring in the wounded off the battlefield, and for the first time since the war began, it rained. It rained as it never had before during the time of war.

** **

“Hold still,” Remor said to the wounded soldier, whose head was split open down the middle. “You’ll only make it worse-” And then, a harsh, wounded cry met his ears, followed by another, and then another. Screams of agony were common on the battlefield- and the fighting continued around them, for now that Remor had the Kamalas, he could enter the battlefield to retrieve the wounded without fear of being harmed. But this cry sounded different. He stood, and turned…

** **

A Kamala was writhing on the ground, bleeding a thick, viscous black substance, and thick red blood dripping out of its eyes as the rain fell heavier and heavier. Several more Kamalas fell as well around him. Unbeknownst to him, The Valokas had stopped his fighting to take notice of this.

** **

“It’s the rain…” Remor said suddenly. “Get out of the rain!” He yelled to the Kamalas. “Hurry!” 

** **

They swiftly made to obey, but the remainder that appeared to be wounded could not do the same. Remor knelt over one, going to touch it. But as he did so, a wound almost like the slash of a knife bleeding a bright glow of light burst outward from the surface of its skin. It cried out, bloody tears running down its face as it sobbed, and Remor took a step backward. As Remor watched in dawning horror, its black skin began fraying away, as more light slashed through it, until limbs that seemed to be made of pure light burst from the Kamalas body, and the rest of the darkness withered away like an old robe, and a new creature slowly stood in its place.

They stood tall and slender, robed in a soft veil of glittering light, their very skin glowing. they didn’t even appear to be corporeal. their face was soft, illuminated, and they watched him with an air of appraisal.

** **

_“Prince Remor…”_ It said in two voices, one of a woman and the other of a man, soft and delicate but firm all the same.

** **

_“Once I served you along with my brethren… but I was suffering and in agony all the while. Now I am freed, and must go to fight alongside my true master… I urge you to break free of your darkness and do the same.”_ Remor growled, going for his sword. Around him, the Kamalas that had been touched by the rain were bursting into new creatures of light identical to the first one.

** **

“What are you?” Remor asked, preparing to fight if necessary. The creature of light smiled.

_ “We are Valokas. Servants and companions of the Great Valokas, and we no longer serve darkness.” _

** **

“You’re a traitor, is what you are.” Snarled Remor. “Darkness is the only peace and safety there is.”

** **

_ “No, young prince. The light must guide you, as it guides all of us imperceptibly. Walk in the light, Prince Remor. You have more of it inside you than you know.” _

** **

But before Remor could ask what the valokas meant, the Great Valokas drew near, for he had witnessed all of this, and a new plan was taking place in his mind. Remor, seeing him, and without his guard of Kamalas, retreated to the camp to rejoin them.

** **

But the Great Valokas smiled, watching him go, allowing him to retreat. He had little need to worry. He focused his attention on the valokas.

** **

“You will fight alongside me?” He said to it. It gracefully bowed low to him, as did the others.

** **

_ “We were born to serve light, and to walk in the light. You are the harbinger of light, and so we will serve you willingly. Command us as you see fit, Emperor of light.” _

** **

The Valokas smiled.

** **

“We need water.” He said, ceasing his army and regrouping them. “As much water as can be found.”

** **

X-X-X

** **

Remor sat across from a Kamala, which trembled pitifully, though it was safely out of the rain, as were the rest of them.

** **

“You didn’t know water did this?” He said softly to it. It trembled still. Another spoke up.

** **

“We had no knowledge, my Lord.” It wheezed. “We only ever concerned ourselves with finding sustenance. Nothing more.” Remor nodded slowly.

** **

“What are you born of?” He asked.

** **

“We are born of suffering and pain. We thrive off of misery. We do not create it, only live because of it.”

** **

“So as long as the war continues, there will be more of you…” Remor mused to himself.

** **

“It would seem so, my lord.”

Remor stood up.

** **

“Now that the Valokas knows your weakness, he’s going to do everything in his power to utilize it. We must make sure there are more of you being born than new valokas being purified… I’m going to go speak to my mother. The rest of you… stay out of the rain.”

** **

And Remor turned on his heel, searching for his mother. He found her watching one of the many campfires, face emotionless, hidden by her shield. Remor stood beside her quietly.

** **

“I know what you want,” Mabuka said. Remor raised an eyebrow.

** **

“Well?”

** **

“It all used to be simple,” Mabuka said to herself. “The war was never beneficial to us… only necessary to protect ourselves. But now… I can no longer avoid it. If I refuse to let you fight… I am sacrificing our safety.” Remor smiled to himself.

** **

“Mother. You know what must be done. We must do what is necessary. I’m only one person. The safety of our people is far more important than mine.”

** **

Not in my eyes, little one. Mabuka thought. But she nodded, resigned. She had always known somewhere that prophecy can not be avoided. She sighed deeply.

** **

“I grant you permission to fight.” She said quietly. “You are to fight alongside your Kamalas, so that they may shield you. You are strong enough. You have proven yourself to me, young one.”

And Remor smiled a base and cringing smile which Mabuka knew so well from the Valokas, and was revolted.

** **

“Mother,” He said grinning. “I will not fail you.”

** **

Behind her shield, a tear ran down Mabuka’s cheek.

** **

“I know.” She whispered.


	4. The Council

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is dedicated to the wonderful MaySake74 for leaving me so many wonderful comments and for dedicating a fanfiction to me! (It's really good, seriously go read it.) I'll link it in the ending notes. I'm sorry this chapter took me such a long time to get out, but I had a lot of trouble writing it. Hopefully it's paid off. Enjoy!

On a not particularly pleasant night in the fields of Apollo when the fighting had waned, Remor stood contemplatively, thinking to himself, rotating a thought in his mind over and over, tumbling it end over end. He stretched his open hand out and closed his eyes.

There are secrets in every reality. Some are so small they can never be found. Some people, no matter what reality they come from, have the ability to detect things others cannot. Remor felt the air around him shimmer, twist, and fray. He scowled to himself in concentration, his handsome head held low in consternation. 

The fabric of reality twisted, bent, and stretched around Remor’s outstretched hand. He flexed his fingers outward and then clenched them into a tight fist, and reality tore around it. He concentrated, and power surged around him. He flung his arms outward, and reality tore open until a doorway stood before him. The edges of the portal were raw, flickering, and threads of time and space dripped from the edges of it, clinging to Remor as he gingerly walked through. He turned, gazing out to his home, Apollo, and then back to the doorway. The colors of this opposite reality were muted and dull, yet to him who had grown up in darkness, it was so bright he felt the need to shield his eyes. This was not Ithersta. He had never been to this realm before. The air smelled the way a banquet table might smell to a starving man.

Unable to withstand the light, Remor walked back through his portal and allowed it to close. His thoughts were brewing. He reached out once more, into reality, and found himself looking into Ithersta, at a brilliantly colored flower. He reached through with a hesitant hand and picked it. As he brought it through, it began to wither. He smiled. 

This power had always existed. It was not difficult to learn. Only difficult to have in the first place. Only a select few in each reality possessed it. Remor was one of the fortunate few. Even the Valokas, even Mother Mabuka herself did not possess it. 

Can you pin down a ray of shadow? Can you catch smoke in a jar, or with a net? When prey can escape to places its hunter cannot follow, it may as well be indestructible.

Remor raised his head in the darkness of the tent. He looked to where his sword and armor rested, where his shield of darkness stared at him almost anticipatorily. Kneeling, he reached for it.

  
X-X-X

  
Despite what others would believe, even spirits such as the Valokas slept. Their sleep was different, touching into other worlds and glimpsing into the future with long tendrils of semi-consciousness. The Valokas slept a restless sleep that opened into other realms of reality. 

In his sleep, he saw fire. 

The Valokas dreamt of screaming children, with strange elongated limbs and eyes dripping blood, fire consuming their grey flesh. In his dreams, they reached out to him. Calling for him. 

In his sleep, he saw a young girl with gleaming green eyes, light burning throughout her save for a single black thread of darkness, like the pivotal string of a marionette. In his sleep, he saw hundreds upon hundreds of black cats emerging into the light of his subconscious, their eyes glowing golden moons that watched him as they fit together like bricks, eclipsing the light around him until nothing more could be seen but the everlasting darkness and thousands of golden, secretive ever-watchful eyes. Though the cold could not touch him, he shivered heavily. 

His final dream was a goat skull, eyes lit from within glowing deep gold, as its maw opened wider and wider into an expanse of all-encompassing blackness.

In the middle of the night, he awoke with a gasp. The night was black and starless, and when he looked out over the horizon of the battlefield, he saw nothing but creeping black, excepting for specks of the distant firesides here and there. If he was as silent as possible, he thought he could hear the distant chorus of a lilting song on the breeze. At that moment, he thought he felt something within his heart crack. Something inside of him was rebuilding itself anew. 

He returned to his solitude, sat alone, in the quiet of the camp, quietly sharpening the blade of his ax, staring ahead at nothing in particular. He could not find reason or ration within himself, only anger. And even that he lacked direction for.

He sat there, light radiating off of him softly until the low dawn approached, finding himself not fatigued, his fingers bloody from the constant unceasing work, his mind unsettled in the manner of one's rooms after they have been torn apart in a meandering search for one elusive item. 

But whatever he had sought for in the long night was still lost to him. Perhaps it would be lost forever.

He stood, and prepared for another battle. Shielded and armored, the camp stirred to life around him. He smiled to himself dimly, thoughts indistinguishable. 

“To arms,” He called out. He did not need to raise his voice. He had a manner of speaking that demanded one's attention.

All people, no matter their inherent nature, carry a hollowness inside of them. Some allow that hollowness to grow within them until it devours everything surrounding it until the individual knows nothing more than the darkness. Some never feed into that hollowness. But as it has been said, the Valokas reasoned with his emotions. And though he loved the light with all of his heart, he loved it with that hollowness. And the hollowness began to grow, carving away bit by bit the young, kind loving man he had been. One day, though he did not realize it yet, he would see himself, and realize that all the pieces of the man he once had been were gone, and he did not recognize the new person he had become. Such was the nature of his passion, to go to the borders of reality for the light that consumed him.

X-X-X

If before, the fighting had been two halves struggling against one another, now it was as a tidal wave against a wall of sand. Remor took to the fighting with a quick ferocity. The Kamalas became his companions in battle, and they held no quarrel with defending him in fighting. Weapons could not harm them. They were hardy and capable, protecting him as he slashed through Itherstian soldiers, and he gleefully fought alongside them as they raked through the enemy, felling them like wheat before the scythe. Their darkness seemed to almost absorb the light. Remor was nearly proud of them. And beyond that, they held him in great respect, holding him as their highest authority. He was their leader, and all along the battlefield, the Itherstian soldiers began to fear him more than Mabuka herself. Even Mabuka could be limited, but Remor and the Kamalas fought unendingly, more vicious and bloodthirsty than any other. They were an unstoppable force so that even the Valokas himself was worried about the outcome of the battle. For where Mabuka and The Valokas fell back, retreated, rested, waned, Remor was young and strong, and quick, wicked and fierce. Nothing could hurt him. No blade could pierce his armor. His footsteps were as lightning on a metal rod. He spun, dodged attacks, and fought with unending strength. He never seemed to tire. 

The Valokas razed the air where Remor had been a moment ago, Only to slice through the skin of a Kamala, which instantly reformed. It skittered away from him, snickering all the while. The Valokas raked his eyes around his surroundings, located Remor, and just for a moment, believed he had made eye contact with him through the openings of his shield. An icy chill went through him as Remor cackled. Raking the air with his sword, Remor tore open a hole in reality, dashed through, and remerged behind the Valokas, slashing a sword through layers of armor, golden fabric, and golden skin. Cursing the darkness, The Valokas pulled back into the sanctuary of his soldiers' company.

“That filthy creature has the upper hand,” He snarled. “Don’t worry anymore about Mabuka. Our fight lies with him!” 

But it did no good. No matter how many Valokas fought him, no matter how many Kamalas were brought down with water, more and more rose up. Their numbers rose nearly instantaneously. The battle had become almost laughable in how easy it was for Mabuka’s people. It no longer seemed fair.

Remor took the wrist of a fallen soldier into his hand, feeling the cold greying flesh for a pulse. Finding none, he dropped it. A Kamala stood over him, watching with its unfeeling white eyes. Remor looked up at it for a moment and said nothing. They seemed to find an understanding. 

“Do you understand why we do this?” Remor asked it, startling himself. The Kamala was silent. Remor, surprising himself once more with his morality, closed the helmet of the dead soldier and stood. Finding the Valokas in the heat of the battle could be surprisingly difficult at times. Remor, having the heart and mind of a child, carried the thought that if one were to simply annihilate the one at the top of the pile, the whole thing would come crumbling down. Remor was young, and youth could be a strength and a weakness simultaneously. He only dreamed of glory. 

“It’s for,” Remor began, and stopped. He wasn’t certain if he understood either. “It’s for them.” The citizens. The innocent. The ones who only desired peace.  
And so the battle continued. What can be said of battles? Nothing noteworthy. Only that blood was indeed shed. Some innocent, some less innocent. Some with families to protect, some alone, some dreaming of peace, some only desiring the excitement war brings. On and on the desolation continued, until the order came. And suddenly, every creature, great and small, in Ithersta, in Apollo, in Primeve, all centering from the realm of stillness, came the cry. The command to cease. Mabuka, daughter of the void, heard it ringing in her ears like a siren. The Valokas, who had been previously deaf, now heard the call far off in the distance. All around the realities, the battle ceased, and all stood upright. The fighting had stopped. For now.

X-X-X

The room was tense. No one spoke. No one moved.

Remor took hold of Mabuka’s hand, taking comfort in her presence. His heart thudded dangerously as he looked around. The court was full of creatures from nearly every reality, some standing as bystanders, some in long black hooded robes. Remor’s face felt cold underneath his shroud, his gloved hands like ice to the touch. He didn’t think he liked the realm of stillness so much. Something was whispering in the back of his mind, like a familiar friend. It didn’t calm him. In his opinion, had the Void called him specifically, he wouldn’t have listened. They had been so close to winning, and yet here they all were. Every ruler from every reality, barring the third one. Remor felt grateful for his shield, yet shuddered still at the strange calm that came after so much bloodshed. 

“What will happen?” He muttered to his mother. She squeezed his hand once, twice, and withdrew.

“None can know until it passes.” She whispered back. “But take heed of my example. Listen to what is said. Don’t speak unless they speak to you, and even then, make your words limited.” Remor scowled slightly, giving an incomprehensible nod, and looked away.

“Well, I think it’s a trap. They’ll try to catch you in your words.” Mabuka felt a bolt of anxiety pierce her.

“You could try and be a calming figure in this time of worry, rather than adding to my fear.” She said, tapping a long fingernail against his mask. Remor scoffed.

“I don’t like this. I don’t trust Itherstians.”

“You’d be a fool to blame the Itherstians for this. They know no better. They follow by example.” 

“They could speak up. Surely at least one of them must know better?” 

“Then you tell me. If only one knows right, to everyone else, what must that make him?” 

Remor was silent. Suddenly, The Valokas entered the room without much adulation. A squadron of his valokas companions accompanied him. An unsettled murmur ran through the room. Suddenly, one of the figures robed in black stood from their seat. 

“It is time for all of the denizens of the first, second, fourth and fifth realities to begin the council. The Council of stillness has gathered themselves before you to speak on the war. The outcome of this gathering may very well resolve this situation by the day’s end.” The air was tense. The Valokas looked around the room, as if slightly confused. Mabuka sighed and stood. The hooded figure nodded at her. 

“Rulers of the realms,” She began, in trepidation, she hesitated. She thought she might have made eye contact with the Valokas were it not for their respective shields. “I come here today to give testimony. We, the people of Apollo, have been unjustly attacked.” 

The Valokas scoffed. Mabuka ignored him. 

“All our actions have been made in self-defense. Nothing we have done is done in anger or desire for destruction. Should we stand down and allow ourselves to be killed? It stands to reason that-” 

“She speaks lies!” The Valokas said. “That… creature-” Here Mabuka put a hand on Remor’s shoulder as he jolted to his feet, and pressed him down again. “-Harbors a race of monsters whose practices and habits are unnatural. They do not deserve protection. We came on a quest of light, to spread goodness and purity, and destroy the darkness that we had found. It is a mission of good. Nothing more.” Mabuka bit her lip. Insufferable fool.   
“You have slaughtered people who live exactly as you do. They only want to live.” 

The Valokas grinned. “They do not live. I’m surprised you consider them capable of life. They only exist on instinct, and their instinct is to hunt for blood. They could never be considered innocent.”

“Could you be?” Remor interjected. Mabuka swiped a hand at him in consternation. The Valokas started at Remor’s voice, as did many others in the room, craning their head to see who had spoken. 

“...What did you say?” The Valokas said, words slow, and deliberate. Remor lifted his head and continued despite Mabuka’s motions for him to be silent.

“Don’t you dare.” she hissed. He shrugged at her. 

“I said,” Remor began. He stopped for a moment. There was an air of amusement to him, as though he did not fully grasp the situation. “I said, could you be considered innocent?” The Valokas stared at him a moment.

“You are Mabuka’s… soldier. I don’t consider myself bound to listen to your feeble little thoughts.” 

“I believe that if you had any respect in your feeble mind, you might call her Queen Mabuka. I suppose one wouldn’t expect that of you.”

The Valokas snarled. There was no allowance for violence to break out here. He curled and uncurled his fists, thankful of his valokas guard. “Do you consider yourself worth my time?” He spat.

“I don’t consider myself bound to answer questions put to me in such a tone. Let me ask you once more. Do you consider yourself to be innocent in your endeavors?” 

“As I said,” Mabuka said sharply, shattering the conversation, “There is no difference between you and my citizens, Valokas. They-”

“Oh, I disagree.” Remor said again.

“Why is that?” the Valokas said. His voice had an air of controlled calm to it. “Yes, tell me why. I should love to hear what the Terrible Black has to say.” 

Remor looked around, shrugged, and smiled. “The people of Apollo might find you very different indeed. They might think you are very odd. They might go so far as to call you strange. But the difference between you, and them…” Remor leaned forward. “Is that when they see something they don’t understand, they don’t try to kill it.” 

A murmur rose through the room. The Valokas lunged forward. The valokas guard held him back.

“Your insolence will see you destroyed, mark my words, you young fool.” Remor laughed.

“You’re such a fool. Anyone of your soldiers would make for a finer king than you.” Mabuka glared at him.

“Alright, alright,” Remor said. Mabuka turned back to the Valokas. From across the room, King Ziar stood up.

“Your Majesty, Emperor of Light, I had been meaning to call to your attention that Ithersta has suffered because of the fighting. Since more and more of our people are dying in the war, there’s no one to tend to our crops-”

The Valokas held up his hand to silence him. “This isn’t my concern at the moment, Ziar.” 

Remor scoffed. Mabuka silenced him with a look.

“All of this shows that war can no longer continue among your respective kingdoms,” said the first hooded figure who had originally spoken. “There must be an end. If this bloodshed continues, there will be no one left.” Then, the Valokas stood tall.

With his voice projecting across the room, across the realities, he proclaimed, “Then let me fight a duel with a champion from the fifth reality, and let the balance of the war hang upon it!” 

There was a great susurrus around the room, murmurs of approval. Mabuka’s mind raced. Beside her, Remor shifted. Who would possibly be a match against the Valokas? None of her strongest soldiers seemed enough. Could Mabuka herself possibly best him?   
The sentence hung in the room, buzzing about like a pestering fly. No one spoke. No one stood. No one had the courage to.

The Valokas looked around furiously. “Well?” He cried. “What do you say? Who will fight me?” 

Mabuka looked from her hands to the Valokas, around the room. Not one, not two, not even three of her best soldiers could beat the Valokas. He was not of the makings of them. He was a higher level, a higher power. The only sort of being who could hope to defeat him was someone like him. She let out a shuddering breath.

It had to be her. For the good of her citizens, even if it meant her death was more than possible. There was nothing else she could do. And then, Remor stood up. The attention of the entire court shifted to him.

“I’ll fight you.” He said. His voice did not waver. Mabuka lunged for him, grabbing his arm.

“Sit, child.” She hissed in fury. “Do not dare. I will not-” Remor pushed her arm away.

“I will fight you!” He shouted to the Valokas. “I will fight you, and I will win! I’ll take your challenge, and let any who think I’m not worthy go to the deadleeworms!” The Valokas straightened, taking in the figure. Just who was this footsoldier of Mabuka’s? He had been a formidable foe with his dominion of the Kamalas, but standing before him, he seemed small. Weak. Easily defeated. The Valokas smiled.

“It is done.” He pronounced. Mabuka released a horrified cry, grabbing her son’s shoulder. 

“I do not allow it!” She said, standing. “I will not let him fight!” Remor pushed her hand away. Her heart went stone cold. 

“Leave him be, Mabuka. He has made his choice. Even you dare not deny him that.” The Valokas turned back to Remor, arms folding. Unconsciously, Remor did the same. An outsider who was not aware of the events unfolding would have immediately noticed the similarities between them, the way they carried themselves. The Valokas raised his voice over Mabuka, cutting her off.

“You will fight alone,” He declared. “Without your Kamalas.” He spat the final word out like it was poison in his mouth. Remor nodded absently. “Then you fight alone as well. Your Valokas shall not fight with you.” The Valokas chuckled darkly. 

“I’m not so without honor I wouldn’t submit to a fair fight. Very well. The duel is set. The fate of your reality hangs on your shoulders, young one. I suggest you train well in preparation.” 

Remor scoffed after him, glaring. “You aren’t fit to be fed to maggots.” The Valokas turned away, smiling still. His fingers twitched, longing to kill, to tear apart, to rend limb from limb, but he steadied himself.

“Let us go,” He called to the room. “We have no more business here.” And away he went Valokas companions in tow.

Mabuka turned towards Remor, fire in her eyes. He wouldn’t look at her.

“You-” She began. Remor shook his head.

“I’ve only done what’s right. Let’s go.” He took her arm, amiable in nature, though his figure was tense. If his face had been visible, it would have seemed relaxed, unworried, but his tense smile and frightened eyes betrayed anxiety. Mabuka stopped.

“You don’t even know what you’ve done.” She whispered. Remor looked back at her, shrugged, and walked away from her. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://archiveofourown.org/works/22831807
> 
> Also, was anyone else aware the Fifth Reality's name is Apollo? It's stated in Leon's journal. I've played Fran Bow three times and I just learned this. I feel like a fool.


	5. Brief Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A short conversation, before the realities' fate is decided once and for all.

“Such a waste of good life. Such a pity, don’t you agree, Itward?” 

“Of course, my lady. I don’t have to say a word on any of it to display my disgust.” 

She nodded, setting her teacup aside to hover placidly in midair as she brandished her ring-covered skeletal pointer finger out at the empty fields. 

“Let this be a lesson to you, for you are my favorite student, of course, on how power corrupts the foolish and vacant minded. Always be ready and willing to learn from that which you don't understand. I’m sure I don’t need to tell you just how repulsed I am with that… Fool’s arrogance.”

“I couldn’t agree more.” 

“Now,” She said, leaning back, and picking up her teacup once more. “I’ll tell you who I truly feel sorry for. Mabuka, that poor dear. Senersedee alone knows all she’s been through. All she goes through.”

Itward nodded. “What about…?” He gestured feebly. 

“Oh, don’t start me gossiping on THAT one. Such an unfortunate situation. However this little duel ends, the outcome for him certainly won’t look bright.” 

“How do you mean, my lady?” 

“Oh, please, Itward. If he loses, the Valokas will kill him. If by some amazing chance he bests the Valokas, and I guarantee you he won’t, the Itherstians will call for his head. It’s as I say. He clearly has spirit, and I cannot disagree with his motivations, but he’s young. That sort of youthful pride never goes unpunished.”

“Isn’t there some chance he’ll win?”

“Oh, no. Haven’t you gotten a good look at him? I certainly have. The amount of soldiers he’s sent my way. He’s strong, mark you. Quick and clever. But the Valokas is a brute. That fool doesn’t care how intelligent his prey is. Why do you think he brandishes an axe on the field? Such an unfair, crude weapon.” 

Itward sighed, fiddling with the top hat in his hands. It would be inappropriate to don it in front of her ladyship. “Still,” He admitted. “I do wish for a different outcome.” 

“Oh, don’t mistake my prattle for callousness, my dear Itward! I would love for this ridiculous display to cease. But you and I know exactly how the Valokas is. His pride has been injured. Of course he'll rip that child to shreds.” 

“...But supposing he spared Remor?” 

“Why, oh why in all of the five realms would he do such a thing? Merciful? The Valokas? Don’t make me laugh.” 

Finally, she leaned back and sighed. 

“This certainly is not an easy position. Mark my words, Itward. Death is not an easy business.”

“I never once thought it was. Don’t fear me misunderstanding it.” 

She rubbed her bony temples, a little weary. “I suppose once he’s done killing all those poor Apollonians, he’ll try to come for us, next.” 

Itward jerked in his seat. “You wouldn’t allow that, would you?”

“Oh, no. no.” Lady Catrina chuckled darkly to herself. “But of course, that would be the end of the Valokas. And all of the Itherstians. And from then on, what becomes of the third reality? They won’t exactly flourish by themselves.”

“It  _ is  _ an unfortunate situation. What are you going to do?” 

“I don’t know.” She said. This was not said in ignorance, or with careless optimism, but rather grim acceptance. “The duel is tomorrow, Itward. I suppose all we can do is wait till then.”

Itward slowly rose to his feet, tucking his top hat under his arm. “I suppose you’re right.”

Lady Catrina stood too, brushing off her full, lacy black skirts. She donned a long, black lace shawl, in which danced a pattern of hundreds of small, grinning skulls. She adjusted her black Mantilla, adorned with several black and red roses. 

“Well,” She said. “Till tomorrow, then.”

“Til tomorrow. Good night, my lady.” Itward turned towards the door.

“Good night, Itward. Oh, and one last thing.” 

Itward turned back towards her. “Yes, madame?” 

“If you have prayers to say, say them for Prince Remor. I suppose he is our last chance, after all.”

Itward nodded. Though he could not quite emote properly, a shadow of darkness passed over his face.

“I’ll keep that in mind.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am aware this is very short, But do not fear, the next chapter will be out very, very soon, and will be much longer than this. Thank you for your patience. I'm sorry this took so long!
> 
> As a side note, I fell in absolute love with Lady Catrina's character. This is my first time writing her, and I hope I got her right. I must say, her dialogue is very fun to write. I hope Shadowheart405 doesn't mind me writing her. If they do, I'll remove this chapter immediately, or rewrite it. 
> 
> As another side note, Lady Catrina makes a comment about saying a prayer. Though I don't address this, that's sort of a bit of a joke on her part. I don't really headcanon the other realities having much in the way of religion. Rather, you could take her borrowing that phrase from the third reality. But if it happens to bother anyone, I'll remove it.
> 
> Also! I've been working on a small playlist for Shadowheart405's series. I couldn't think of a lot of songs, so if anyone else has any ideas, please let me know and I'll add them! Here's the link: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3Ki3pJIc25Lau2tySYP4g8?si=VfkhGcMGQzi-rP6deWz6WQ


	6. Icarus and the Sun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Told you I'd be quick.

It was the earliest hour of the morning, though it couldn’t really be considered morning in Apollo at all. 

He had compulsively resharpened his sword five times. He had polished and buffed his armor until he was concerned there would be nothing left of it to protect him, and stopped. He gnawed at his lip until it bled. He pulled back his hair to keep it out of his eyes and loosened it over, and over, and over, and still, day would not come. 

Perhaps a shortsword would do better. He was quick on his feet, and it might be best to stick to that. Or a spear. He was good with a spear. Would the Valokas use his axe? 

Remor had never used an axe before in battle. He didn’t think he was suited to it. He didn’t think anyone had ever used an axe in a duel, but he was uncertain.

Would it be better to feast on human anguish, to calm and strengthen him, or human anger, to fill him with adrenaline? He bit on his lip, tasting his own blood, and winced. 

“I am not afraid,” He said to no one in particular. He wasn’t quite sure why he said it. “I am not. The Valokas is a coward. Cowards are nothing to be frightened of.”

He thought of how much bigger the Valokas was. He stood up and paced around the tent's interior. He sat down. He stood, and paced again. Finally, he lay down on the floor and took deep, wheezing breaths. 

“I’m not afraid.” He said.

He thought this to himself many, many times, compulsively, like a spell. As if it would come true if it was repeated enough.

It didn’t work. He sat up. He ran a hand through his hair.

“I’m going to die,” Remor said. It came to him all at once, like a bullet in the back. He was young. He had never considered the possibility of his own death before. But now, it was as inevitable as the fast-approaching dawn.

“I’m going to die.” He said one more time. It didn’t sound real.

He closed his eyes and tried to draw strength from the call of the realm of darkness as his mother had shown him. It didn’t make him feel much better, but his anxiety was lessened somewhat.

How many times had he fought on the battlefield, now? How many scrapes had he avoided? He was his mother's tactician. There had to be a plan. Think, now.

The Valokas was big and strong. For the sake of appearances, the Valokas surely wouldn’t use his axe in a duel for fairness sake. Strike one against him. The Valokas never used a sword, and wouldn’t be as used to it. The Valokas would not have his guard. Strike two. While Remor had his guard of the Kamalas, he made a point not to rely on them, while the Valokas guard shadowed him everywhere. He would be unused to fighting alone. 

The Valokas was big and slow. Strike three.

Remor was fast and young. 

“Use his strength against him.” He whispered. “Icarus against the sun.” 

The Valokas depended on his light. Remor depended on nothing but his strength. 

Remor smiled.

“I’m not afraid.” He said. This time it was true.

X-X-X

The air was still. The battlefield was empty of all but fallen leaves and bodies of the decaying. Now and again the whisper of a Kamala fluttered through the underbrush.

No one spoke, in either Apollo or Ithersta. The dawn was as silent as the grave.

Remor waited. He had carefully dressed for the duel, forgoing loose clothing for sturdy trousers, a black gambeson, and his deep black armor. His sword hung on his hip in its dark sheath, his hands shrouded in gloves casually wrapping and unwrapping around it. Rather than any veils, he opted for only his shroud of darkness to cover his face, his hair reliably tucked back underneath it. He couldn’t take any distractions. Loose clothing would only slow him down.

Somehow, he felt unreasonably calm. Almost in a pleasant mood. 

Mabuka stood beside him. She wore armor as well. Remor wondered why. It wasn’t as if she’d need it. She didn’t reach out and touch him, though she wanted to. Behind the pair stood the entire Apollonian army, lined up standing still as statues.

“Where is he?” Remor said under his breath, keeping a steady eye on the Itherstian army, which stood in a mirrored position several ways away. Though King Ziar stood in the front, The Valokas was noticeably absent. 

“Silence.” Mabuka hissed. 

“They can’t hear-”

She sighed. Remor went quiet. He glanced at her. She avoided his eyes, staring resolutely forward.

“Mother-” 

“Hush. He’s coming.” 

Remor stiffened. The line of Itherstian’s parted like a scrap of cloth being torn down the middle as the Valokas strode forth. He was clad in resplendent golden robes, over which he wore his armor which shone so bright it made Remor’s eyes water. Frowning underneath his shield, he blinked furiously, refusing to take his eyes off of the Valokas. If he was to duel him, he must get his eyes accustomed to the Valokas’s furious brightness. 

The Valokas stopped for a moment to talk to Ziar. Their conversation was inaudible, but none could mistake the Valokas’s oddly carefree gate, the careless way he swung his arms as he walked. If he had not been wearing his mask, one would have gotten the impression he would be donning an idiotic grin on his face. He swung his face back towards Remor, and, in the manner of an errant schoolteacher, he gestured at him to approach. Cocking his head to the side slightly, Remor smirked and mimicked the gesture. 

The Valokas almost seemed to chuckle, though if he did it could not be heard. He nodded and began to walk forward. Remor began to walk forward as well before Mabuka took hold of his hand. Remor stopped and looked back at her.

“Please…” She began and stopped. “Please…”

Remor waited.

Mabuka released his hand. 

“Please… Live.” She said, her voice quiet. Remor was silent.

“It’s been an honor fighting for you.” He said finally, looking forward at the rapidly approaching form of the Valokas. He looked back at Mabuka.

“I love you, mother. I’m sorry.” 

Then, he strode forward to meet the Valokas. He did not look back once. 

X-X-X

“So, here you are.” The Valokas said. Remor remained quiet. The Valokas shifted slightly. True to Remor’s calculations, He wore a long, golden broadsword strapped at his side, his hands on his hips. It dawned on Remor that the Valokas must have been expecting this to be a game of sorts. It certainly accounted for his casual manner.

The Valokas cleared his throat. “I must say, I didn’t expect you to come. I suppose I’d thought you’d give up when you realized you were placing everything… on your shoulders.” 

Remor did not miss the subtle mocking edge to the Valokas’s words. He stayed quiet.

“Nothing to say? You certainly had a lot to say about me at the council.” 

Remor looked up at the great, golden coward.

“Damn you.” He said. The Valokas laughed. 

“There we are. I suppose youth is wasted on the young, isn’t it? Tell me, why is such a strong young man fighting for Mabuka? What have you to gain from her?” 

Remor was silent for a moment. Then he spoke.

“They can’t hear us, you know.” He said. 

“I wouldn’t expect them to, young man. How astute you are.”

“I’m trying to tell you that you’re attempting a fool’s errand. If you call an end to this now, no one will be hurt any longer. Your people and you can go back to Ithersta and rebuild. This will all be over. We can tell them all we came to an agreement.” Remor said. His voice was calm and collected.

“Oh, frightened now? I suppose this is a bit more serious than the little battles you love so much, isn’t it? I suppose I must be the one to give you your first brush with reality.” 

Remor took a deep breath. Then, projecting his voice, he began his proclamation. 

“I, Remor, the terrible black, and the head of Mother Mabuka’s army, stand here this day to duel the Valokas, king of Primeve and the light. Let it be known that we, Apollo, have offered him peace countless times, to his refusal. May our battles be eternally at an end after this duel concludes.” 

The Valokas spread his arms wide. “Such a rousing speech. You are very eloquent. Very well. I, The Valokas, stand here this day to put an end to the spread of sickness and vileness the fifth reality has brought to our fair lands. When this duel is over, may we all walk in the light.”

Remor nodded. 

“I have agreed to your terms of the duel, Valokas. Do you formally agree to mine, and swear to keep them?”

“I do. Are you prepared? Do take your time.” 

“No,” Remor said, throwing his scabbard aside, his black sword gleaming in the light. “I’m ready.” 

The Valokas pulled out his sword. It was as long as some people are tall. He didn’t bother removing his scabbard, proving once more he believed this duel to be childs' play.

“Alright, child. Let us-” 

He found himself unable to finish his sentence as Remor charged him unexpectedly, and struck him across the face with the flat end of his blade. He reeled back. Surprisingly, his shield stayed on, though he raised a hand to adjust it. Then, he steadied his posture, raised his sword, and swung. Remor ducked. 

Startled, the Valokas struck out with his sword. To his surprise, Remor blocked it with his own, quick as a whip. 

Eyes narrowing, the Valokas charged forward, attempting to use his height to dawn over Remor. However, Remor kept drawing back, dodging the blade, cleverly matching each blade stroke with his own. And soon enough, the Valokas became frustrated. This had gone on for far too long. It was time for this impudent child to learn respect. 

He stabbed forward, aiming for Remor’s midsection. Yet all Remor did was raise his blade, effectively parrying and twirling away from the attack.

_ All he’s doing is playing keep away.  _ The Valokas thought, and he became angry.

“Stop dodging and  _ FIGHT ME!”  _ He shouted. To his amazement, Remor laughed, parrying his blade away, and spinning back with a strike of his own. Then, as the Valokas lunged for him, Remor spun away, and under the Valokas’s arm. Once he faced him from behind, The Valokas spun back to face him and tripped over the hem of his robe. He regained his footing, grateful not to have fallen, and whirled towards Remor, spitting with rage. 

Remor began to feel incredibly confident. The shouts of his army empowered him. The gaze of his mother strengthened him, and the frightened calls of the Itherstian army for their leader to step up, regain, to attack him emboldened him fiercely.

“That’s why you don’t wear loose robes to a duel!” Remor called to the Valokas, spinning his sword in his hand. As the Valokas charged him once more, Remor spun away and slashed at the Valokas’s side, a gush of rich, red blood splashing onto the ground. The Valokas howled in rage.

“Now that we’ve all this time to talk,” Remor said as casually as one at a party as he dodged the Valokas’s numerous attacks, “Let me explain to you why you oughtn’t to insult my lady Mother Mabuka, and why you really should be kinder to those different than you.” 

The Valokas staggered back, panting. His great, golden heart pounded in his chest like a drum. Remor had barely attacked him once, yet he was exhausted, while Remor practically danced around his attacks. He swallowed thickly, his mouth dry. He took up his blade again, attempting another attack.

“Tell me,” The Valokas growled.

“It’s because every person you walk on, every good person you kill, every kind person you mutilate-” Remor began, and then he leaped, raising his sword over his head, and cracking it over the Valokas’s shield. It cracked in two and fell off the Valokas’s face. He snarled, his golden hair whipping in the wind. Remor landed back on his feet.

“You have one more hateful, vengeful person rising up to take their place.” Remor finished. “And do you know who is the most hateful, vengeful, and cruel of all?” Remor asked. 

“You little-” 

“Do you know? Well, I’ll tell you, old man.” 

Remor spread his arms wide. 

“It’s  _ me.”  _

Then, he sprang forward and stabbed the Valokas in the side.

Now, if the Valokas had been mortal, he would have died soon enough. The exacerbation of blood loss and exhaustion would have sent him into Lady Catrina’s grasp long ago. But the Valokas, as it does not need to be reiterated, was the farthest thing from mortal. To put it plainly, he held out.

For three days, he held out. 

For three days, they fought. And never once did he land a hit on Remor. For Remor, setting aside his hubris and desire for strength, waited, and dodged and defended. And so he regained his strength as the Valokas’s ebbed and faded. 

But on the third day, something changed. Specifically, something changed in the Valokas.

Even more specifically, his demeanor. Before, he had retained his optimism for the ending of the duel. Now, he knew in his heart of hearts there was no chance for his victory if something didn’t change. 

He licked his dry lips. Remor smiled to himself. A few locks of glossy blood-red hair strayed loose from underneath his shield, and the Valokas took notice of them with an unnoticed recognition.

_ Something has to change.  _ The Valokas thought.

And for the first time in his life, the Valokas put aside all thoughts of how he would be perceived. He tossed aside what they would think of his honor. 

He threw his sword to the side. Remor stopped, and stood still, confused. Was the Valokas surrendering? Perhaps there wouldn’t be the need for any more bloodshed after all.

And then, the Valokas summoned his battle axe into his hand. Remor flinched back.

“Stop this! You agreed to use a sword, your axe goes against our terms!” Remor said, standing his ground. 

The Valokas growled almost animalistically. “Your terms no longer mean anything to me.” 

Then, he swung. It must be said that if the Valokas’s sword was as long as some people are tall, the axe was far, far bigger. It stood almost as tall as the Valokas himself, and the axe head was incredibly sharp and incredibly big. Remor just avoided getting gored on it by jumping back. He did not, however, escape the incredibly sharp dague, which was as long as a dagger, and twice as sharp. Remor cried out, grabbing the wound which immediately began to sting. Remor hissed, staggering back, gripping his sword tightly. 

Why did the wound sting so badly? He had received wounds far, far, worse before. Nothing had hurt this bad. Keeping his distance from the Valokas, Remor quickly removed his glove and touched the wound. Almost instantly, his hand began to sting. He pulled his hand to his face and to his horror, saw the flesh almost sizzling.

“Iron,” Remor said in awe. “You coated your axe with iron.” 

The Valokas laughed grimly. “Bathed in salt water, as well. Before every battle. How do you think I cut through your people so easily?” 

Remor stood there for a moment in shock.

“You’re a monster.” He said. The Valokas threw back his head and laughed. A sort of madness had overtaken him. 

“If I’m a monster, I suppose it takes one to kill one!” 

Remor ground his fist against the wound and shook blood off of his sword, biting his lip in determination. He had far bigger things to worry about.

“Consider yourself, Valokas!” He shouted. “You disgrace yourself, you disgrace your people! You play a dirty game. You have no honor!” 

The Valokas stood still, watching Remor. A titan against an ant. A mountain against a raven. The sun against Icarus. His figure enormous against the outline of the sun behind him, so much bigger than Remor.

Pain burned through Remor, his forehead clammy, his lips pale. His fingertips were numb. He clenched his fist over and over attempting to defuse the rapidly approaching iron weakness. A wave of nausea and vertigo rose through him, and the world seemed to spin for a moment before straightening itself. He knew he was swaying. He knew he wouldn’t win this. 

“I’m going to die,” Remor whispered. He looked past the Valokas, towards the Apollonian army, and somewhere among the sea of black-clad figures, he thought he saw his mother.

If he died, he would take the Valokas down with him.

He took up his sword in both hands and pointed it directly at the Valokas.

“I’m not afraid,” Remor said to himself. And though he didn’t believe it, he forced himself to anyways. 

“You’re a coward, Valokas. You always have been. You want to be a hero to your Itherstians? If I were one of them, I’d never respect you again.” 

Remor coughed, tasting blood in his mouth. He spat, and blood trickled down his chin. 

“Well, here I am,” Remor said, raising his sword, making eye contact with the Valokas through his shield. 

“Come kill me, you bastard.” 

The Valokas charged.

X-X-X

Blood on the ground. 

Blood in his mouth, on his face. 

The second the axe made contact with his shield, Remor knew he was dead. He had to be. 

The shock of the impact knocked him flat. He dimly registered somewhere a million miles away, that his vision was clear and uninhibited by the shield, his breathing a little clearer. His ears rang from the blow, his vision swam from the iron and the blunt force of the impact. He noted somewhere in the recesses of his mind that his hair had come loose, and that blood was dripping out of his mouth. He groaned. He reached up with a shaky hand and attempted to wipe the blood from his mouth and nose, only succeeding in smearing it around his face. He tried to lift his head, failed, and lay there. 

Was he dead? If he was dead, where was Lady Catrina? He had never met her before, but he assumed she might have introduced herself. 

If he was dead, he supposed that he didn’t feel much different from when he was alive. It was mildly comforting.

_ I wish I’d been kinder to mother.  _ He thought vaguely. 

Sluggishly, he looked around. His vision was blurry. He reached up once more and touched his face.

The shield! His shield was missing!

He looked around his surrounding area until he saw a small piece of bone-shard on the ground beside him.

It seemed to him the shield had blocked the Valokas’s blow so effectively, it had been obliterated. 

He wasn’t dead.

He wheezed and laughed painfully to himself. 

Then, he realized someone had been talking.

“What-What is- What is-” The Valokas spluttered. “Wh-”

Someone screamed. Running footsteps.

“Remor!” it was Mabuka. 

Remor huffed out a laugh. His head dropped. Then, his vision went black.

X-X-X

At that moment, she ran faster than she had ever run in her entire life. Shoving past soldiers, shoving past any in her path as she ran towards the still figure of Remor on the ground. As she approached, the Valokas dimly turned towards her, his axe dangling limply in his grip, his face awash with confusion and exhaustion.

His face that was identical to Remor’s. 

Somewhere Mabuka registered the noise of both armies, the confused raucous shouts, the overwhelming susurrus, but at that moment, none of it mattered.

“Mabuka-” The Valokas said in weak confusion. “Why- why does- why does he look-” 

Mabuka shoved past him. Taken by surprise, he stumbled out of her way, standing there in a daze.

Mabuka dropped to her knees and drew Remor’s head into her lap. 

“Oh nonononononnono, No, please, please, you can’t have let this coward be the death of you, please please my love-” Her words were frantic and repetitive. She found herself incapable of finishing a sentence, incapable of coherency. Remor’s face was covered in blood. His eyes were closed.

His eyes that were identical to the Valokas’s.

His face that was identical to the Valokas’s.

She pressed her ear to his chest and felt the weak, dull thrumming within. Hysterically, she placed her hand against the wound in his side. Then, she ripped her shield off, tore at the veil she wore underneath it, unraveled it, and pressed it against the wound. 

“M-Mabuka-” The Valokas said, more humbled and hesitant than she had heard in eons. 

“LEAVE ME!” She shouted. Her voice was not a shout, but a landslide, a knife stabbed deep enough till it hit bone, a foot breaking through the surface of a frozen lake. Her voice was somehow projected, boldened, deep penetrating into the surface of the earth, vibrating through every individual's bones. Somewhere in the third reality, volcanoes that had lain dormant for centuries exploded. Somewhere else, the earth trembled and quaked and split open. Somewhere else, the sky opened and the rain poured down until the land was flooded. 

Mabuka’s eyes glowed. It felt as though the sky was about to crack. Her hands quivered over Remor’s still face in her lap. 

“Mothers here,” She mumbled. “I’m here. I’m here. I’m sorry, love. I’m so sorry. Mothers sorry.”

“Mother.” The Valokas repeated. “Mother Mabuka.” He looked down at Remor’s face. “Mother Mabuka.” 

And then, to put it plainly, he understood. He sank to his knees. 

At last, at last, King Ziar was beside him, as was Palontras. He let himself be led somewhere. Somewhere, someone was prying Mabuka off of Remor, someone somewhere was carrying Remor back to the Apollonian camp. 

Lady Catrina closed her parasol. She had been standing on the sidelines beside Itward the entire time.

“Well,” She said. She cleared her throat and opened her hand-fan, shakily fanning herself. “I certainly didn’t expect that.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few notes I've compiled for my reader(s)!
> 
> I hope I haven't made the Valokas seem too one-dimensional in this chapter. I like to think of this as sort of a breaking point for him, and that he wouldn't have gone to such extremes before the war started.  
Piggybacking off of Shadowheart405's headcanon that iron burns the creature of the realities flesh, I headcanon salt does as well.  
For those who don't know, A dague is basically that pointy tip on the end of a duel-edged battle axe. It's made for stabbing.  
I've never written combat before. I hope I did a good job, I tried to spice it up and make it interesting with dialogue and such. I also hope this wasn't too cheesy or dramatic for you guys.  
This isn't the last chapter, by the way! We still have a little bit to go.  
Also! If you’ve read my one work ‘The War’ you’ll notice this scene plays out much differently than the way I write it there. This is simply because I think my writing skills have improved since then and I wanted to rework that scene. Consider this the version of how it really played out.  
Pssst! I have a blog! Find me at Justfranbowthings.tumblr.com! It’s password entry only. The password is “Duotine”. Feel free to talk to me about anything there, especially about this series.  
Thank you for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> So as I noted before, a good deal of this is my own personal theories/what I have gleaned from Shadowheart405 and fran bow canon. That being said, I'm no expert. If you have any corrections/personal theories I could add to this, please let me know!


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